


Not Afraid of the Dark

by EddiPoo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bathing, Body Worship, Character Development, Comfort, Concerned Dean Winchester, Cuddling, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Inferiority Complex, Injured Dean Winchester, Love, Mostly fluff though, Original Female Character - Freeform, Past Abuse, Podfic Available, Protective Dean Winchester, Reader Insert, Rescue, Romance, SPN - Freeform, Scars, Sleeping Together, badass reader moment, broken-ness, cuteness, emotional scars, fix you, frightened, implied sex, injured reader, loving, mentions of torture, slave - Freeform, too much heart, you!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 00:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EddiPoo/pseuds/EddiPoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>You shut your eyes to the light and hugged the wall, quietly whimpering and pulled your legs in toward your chest as if making yourself less of a target might somehow protect you. You stopped moving but the tears still came and you were crying openly. You stopped fighting. Nothing could save you now. A hand gently touched your hair. The touch didn’t seem aggressive or harsh, but still, out of reflex you flinched away from it. “I’m not going to hurt you,” a calm, steady voice said, “My name is Dean and I’m gonna get you out of here.”</i> </p><p>Dean takes you away from your life as Alastair's slave and shows you how to love again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My Name Is Dean

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys. Thanks for reading. Comments are welcome! :)  
> There is also a PODFIC! of this available. Please see my page.  
> Contains mentions of rape and torture. You have been warned.

You wished you could see something. Anything. But the thick canvas bag over your head prevented any light from reaching your eyes. It was something you were practically used to by now. After spending most of your life with Alastair, you had just learned to accept it. Your wrists were shackled above you and you sat on the cold cement floor of the shed where Alastair liked to keep his slaves. He used to have several, but they came and went, being traded or killed until you were the only one left. You had been with him for a long time. And you were always his favorite. He liked the way you still fought against him sometimes. Most slaves gave up after the first few years. But occasionally you resisted, a reaction that he often tried to work out of you.

There were other times however that you simply let him have his way with you. Sometimes it was just easier than fighting. Plus the punishments weren’t usually as harsh.

Lately your will to resist had diminished. A few days earlier you had looked Alastair in the eyes and refused to comply with his perverted demands. It wasn’t the first time you had misbehaved, but he was still shocked by your sudden outburst and soon found great pleasure in using it to justify causing you pain. Not that he needed justification.

He commanded his demons to bring him something. At the time you couldn’t tell what it was from across the room as he pulled it from a long wooden box and placed one end in the fire. Several minutes later you realized what it was as he pulled it from the flames, the end glowing red hot and steaming. You had scrambled backwards on the floor but his demons held your limbs and forced your hand open as Alastair pressed the ‘S’ shaped brand into your palm. Your gut wrenching screams echoed in the hollow room. You almost blacked out from the pain and could instantly smell your own burning flesh. Alastair had removed the brand and tossed it to the floor before signaling for his demons to release you.

“‘S’ seemed appropriate,” he smirked, “To remind you that you are a slave. My slave, and I can do whatever I want to you.”

You couldn’t respond and only curled into the fetal position on the cold tile floor sobbing until your limp body was dragged out of the room and taken back to your chains.

 

Noises outside brought you back to the present. You trembled in fear. It was probably your master returning. If only you could see something through the thick fabric over your head. The smell of burned flesh was still slightly present, even though it had been almost three days since it had happened. You hoped it wouldn’t get infected. It would however leave a nasty scar. Your palm throbbed and you could feel your heartbeat under the burn. Twisting your wrist, you tried to press it to the cold metal of the shackles. Anything to relieve the still-burning sensation.

 The noises from outside were getting louder. You couldn’t tell what was going on but you could sense the tension and aggression and cries and the sound of corpses hitting the floor. Someone was angry and you only hoped that you would be left out of it. And then there was silence. You didn’t know what that meant, but it made you terrified. You held your breath, straining to hear a sound that might tell you what was going on. Your whole body trembled, shivering out of fear.

 Suddenly a door near you was kicked open, shattering the small windows and scattering shards of broken glass across the cold, concrete floor. Footsteps entered the room, the glass crunching under the heavy boots. You shivered and backed away from the sounds. Silent tears rolled down your cheeks and your breaths were shallow. The footsteps approached and a shiver went through your whole body. You pulled at your chains, inching away from the sounds and pulling against them tightly, cutting off the blood to your hands until they turned white. But you didn’t feel the pain. You were too afraid to notice. If only you could see something. See anything. You clenched your shaking fists and hugged the wall, whimpering softly. The footsteps came to a halt next you and the anticipation was almost more than you could bear. Small sounds of rustling fabric and shifting boots told you that whoever the footsteps belonged to had crouched beside you. Then suddenly water was being poured on your forearm. You flinched in surprise, expecting pain, but were relieved when none came. What was going on. Maybe Alastair was just having a bit of fun. Maybe he’d kill you this time and it would finally all be over. You held your breath in anticipation. Surely this was hell.

A hand touched your head. You frantically fought it off, exerting what little strength you had left. Apparently your branding had taught you nothing. You kicked and clawed at every movement, even though your wrists were restrained. Twisting your body frantically you tried to shrink away, your tears turning hot as they flowed from your eyes. The hand returned to your head and the sack was pulled off. The light seemed blinding to your eyes, even though it was well into the evening. You shut your eyes to the light and hugged the wall, quietly whimpering and pulled your legs in toward your chest as if making yourself less of a target might somehow protect you. You stopped moving but the tears still came and you were crying openly. You stopped fighting. Nothing could save you now.

The hand returned for a third time, and gently touched your hair. The touch didn’t seem aggressive or harsh, but still, out of reflex you flinched away from it.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” a calm, steady voice said, “My name is Dean and I’m gonna get you out of here.”

    You opened your eyes slowly and let them adjust. Trying to focus on the figure in front of you, you weakly glanced up, but you couldn’t focus and all you could see was a dark shape before you. You must be hallucinating. A combination of pain and lack of food and water had probably messed with your head.

The stranger used a pair of bolt cutters to break the chains that held your wrists. His hands were quick as if he knew exactly what he was doing. When your hands were free they fell limply to the ground, blood pumping back into them causing an excruciation sensation in your palms like they were being stuck with a thousand pins. Your wound throbbed. The adrenalin you had felt while resisting just moments ago was now spent, and the fatigue you felt before came back even stronger. You couldn’t handle the pain. Your eyelids drooped closed and you slumped forward ungracefully onto the cold, hard ground.

 

When you came to, you felt movement. The hum of a motor and the soft vibrations of tires on the highway below you lulled you. Peering through your eyelashes, you glanced at your surroundings before showing any signs of consciousness.

Concentrating you noticed that the soft, padded leather beneath you was the backseat of a car. The vehicle was immaculate, as if the owner took great pride in it and always kept it clean. There were dings and scrapes of course. And a plastic toy soldier was impossibly crammed into the ashtray. You opened your eyes now and lifted your head slightly to look at the driver of the vehicle. His short hair was a dirty blond that matched the stubble on his chin. His eyes scanned the road carefully, and his hands rested on the steering wheel, maneuvering the car with ease. He noticed the movement in the back seat and turned his head to look back at you. You looked confused and frightened and he wished he had made it back to the hotel before had woken up.

“Here drink this,” he said, handing a bottle of water back to you. You took it cautiously, unscrewing the lid and sniffing at the liquid inside. It wasn’t uncommon for Alastair to drug your water, but the sight of wet droplets trickling down the side of the bottle made you forget about your concerns and you put the plastic to your lips.

“There are some granola bars in the seat pocket if you want them,” Dean added as you guzzled the water.

You normally would have refused, but you were famished. Your stomach grumbled at the thought of food and you pulled out a single granola bar, unwrapped it, and ate it in three bites. Washing down the last of it with the rest of the water, you settled your head back down on the seat. Your wrist and burn mark stung. Hopefully Dean hadn’t seen the brand on your hand and you made a mental note to keep your fist closed in the future.

 Dean soon slowed the car and turned into a motel parking lot. Lifting yourself up onto your forearms you poked your head just high enough to see out the window. The place didn’t look hostile. But then you knew it was only a short stop. Who knew where this new man would eventually take you. Somewhere worse than Alastairs place possibly. You shuddered and didn’t let yourself think like that again.

When the car came to a complete stop, Dean was out the door. He retrieved a duffle bag from the trunk and you sat there unsure if you were supposed to follow him or not. He was so much less clear than your former master. Alastair had always been direct and never held back making his commands clear and his punishments even more so.

Dean shut the trunk and opened the side door. You sprang to attention and stepped out, keeping your head down and not making eye contact. That was always the safest process. He motioned for you to follow him and the two of you walked along the line of doors until you reached the one on the very end. You stayed two steps behind him, walking silently and keeping your eyes down. When he reached the correct door, Dean pulled a key out of his front pocket and twisted it in the lock. He entered and flipped on the light. You were close behind him.

He tossed the duffel on the nearest bed and turned to look at you.

He seemed a little unsure of what he wanted. You weren’t used to that.

“Why don’t you shower and get out of those dirty clothes. I have to make a phone call but I’ll be right outside.”

You nodded obediently, staring at the ground the whole time, and when he was finished, turned and walked toward the bathroom.

Showers were a luxury. Alastair had always liked you clean, but often it was more of a hose down rather than an actual shower. You removed your torn and dirty clothes and placed them on the floor.

This man was letting you take a real shower. So far he looked like he might be a better master than Alastair. You didn’t want to jump to any conclusions though. Turning on the shower you stepped inside, taking a deep breath as the cold water hit your skin. You didn’t dare use any hot water. Your former master had always forbade it to ensure that there was always hot water when he needed it. You didn’t know if this new master was the same, but you didn’t want to take any chances. This was a new start.

You quickly scrubbed the grime off your body, lost in your thoughts. You were afraid of any more punishment. You didn’t want any more whippings or any more brands to touch your skin. No more pain. This master didn’t know that you had always been a bad slave for Alastair. Maybe this was your chance. You could start over. Be a good slave from the beginning and maybe he wouldn’t hurt you. It would be worth a try. You knew you could bring him pleasure and hoped that if you tried hard it would be enough. Extending your palm, you let the cold water run over your burn. Although it had been almost three days, the skin was hot like it was still burning on the inside.

Afraid that your shower was going too long, you shut off the water and stepped out onto the mat. You pulled a towel from the rack on the wall and quickly soaked up the water that covered your skin, brushing through your hair with your fingers. You retrieved your tattered shirt from the floor and tore a strip off, wrapping it around your palm to hopefully hide the burn.

Now was your chance. It was time for you to show this Dean what a good slave you could be.

You emerged from the bathroom in nothing but a towel. But you figured Dean would prefer it this way. Alastair always had. Dean had evidently finished his phone call and was now sitting on one of the beds riffling through his duffle. His face was turned away from you as you approached silently. As you had been trained, you loosened the towel and let it fall to the floor, then knelt on the ground between the two motel beds. You waited in silence, keeping your head low, not saying a word, but staring at Dean through your lashes.

After a moment, he seemed to find whatever it was he had been looking for and turned around, only to find you beside the bed. Your eyes were cast downward and you didn’t dare raise them. That had always resulted in swift punishment from Alastair. He seemed taken aback at first and you simply bowed your head lower and waited for Dean to act. You were good at waiting. After years of putting your own feelings last, there was no situation that you couldn’t patiently wait out. But something felt different. Dean was not reacting as you expected him to. He didn’t touch you or pull you up, force you onto the bed, or hurt you in any way. You were surprised and wanted to know what he was doing. But you knew your place and kept your head down. It worried you though. You could feel his eyes glance over you as he noticed you're scarred back, face, and poorly bandaged hand for the first time. Did he find your broken skin disgusting? Perhaps he saw it as proof that you were a bad slave and was contemplating how to treat you as such.

But Dean’s actual reaction was the last thing you expected. You nervously watched his feet and kept your face to the ground. But then, slowly standing from the bed, he pulled one of his own shirts from his duffle and unfolded it. He clenched the fabric around the collar and then, kneeling beside you, he gently draped it over your shoulders. You didn’t understand. A slave was never to touch her masters clothing except when washing it. You weren’t sure at all how you were supposed to react.    

Dean kneeling beside you on the floor also confused you. He should never lower himself to your level. Maybe it was some kind of foreplay. Alastair had let his demons get creative in the ways that they used you.

Dean let out a breath and put his hand on your shoulder. You shrank back slightly, but held your position. Dean noticed this and removed his hand.

Then he softly spoke, “Hey, you wanna tell me your name?”

You still hadn’t raised your eyes above his torso and when he spoke, your hands suddenly got clammy. He waited patiently for a response you couldn’t give.

“Come on, what’s your name?”

Your voice caught in your throat but after a long moment you managed to swallow the lump and whisper, “I don’t know.”

 “Hey, look at me,” Dean coaxed after a moment of silence, “I want to look you in the eyes.”

You hesitated. Surely he was toying with you. Wanting you to misbehave so that he would have some excuse to punish you later. When you didn’t react, Dean slowly moved his hand to your face and encouraged you to lift your head. You gave in to the slight pressure he used to lift your chin, but your eyes remained fixed on the ground. Suddenly you felt ashamed. The scar that stretched from your brow to your jawline was now fully in view to Dean. It was just another sigh of your defectiveness and now that he saw it he would know. Perhaps your hopes for a fresh start were in vain.

He pulled his hand away and waited for you to meet his gaze. Slowly you lifted your eyes, letting them slowly travel upward until they met his own. You expected to see disgust in his expression. You were no beauty and now he had seen the long scars on your back and the deformity that graced your cheek, he was sure to regret taking such a disobedient slave as yourself from Alastair. But his eyes held something else. An expression you had never seen before. Not directed at you anyway. He looked almost sad. Not in a regretful sort of way, but more of an empathetic longing. Like he felt… sorry for you?

That was the last thing you wanted. Pity. You turned your face away to hide your disfigurement and closed your eyes so you didn’t have to see his expression. All you felt was shame.

 Dean could see the shame in your eyes, but he had no idea how to approach it, especially when he had to coax you just to make eye contact. He had tried to not look so taken aback when he had seen the scars on your back, but hadn’t been able to stay as emotionless as he would have liked. What kind of sick bastard would do that to another person? He hadn’t gotten a good look at the scar on your face either until you had looked him in the eye. He could tell right away that you were ashamed of it. He thought is was probably a constant reminder of your life with Alastair. And one you could never wash off.

After a long moment, Dean still couldn’t think of a single thing to say. So he scooted forward slightly and tugged at the hem of his shirt on your shoulders. He held it out and shook it slightly, encouraging you to slip your arm inside the sleeve. You obediently reached your hand inside and let your fingers slowly run along the inside fabric. The cloth of the shirt was soft, like it had been worn and washed a hundred times, not at all like the texture of the coarse fabric that you had always worn in the past.

Dean coaxed your other arm in the opposite sleeve and you obliged, still keeping your right hand in a fist. Then he pulled the shirt together and fastened it with a few of the middle buttons.

 After standing from the floor, he reached out his hand to you to help you up too. You shied away and kept your head down turned, standing up on your own and respectfully taking a step away from him.

Dean just sighed.

“It’s okay to let people help you,” he said.

You didn’t even know how to acknowledge that possibility. But if that was what he wanted you would try.

And that would be your reaction to everything. Serve master and do whatever he says. Your feelings didn’t matter. It would pay off in the end.

 “Dean folded the blankets back on the bed farthest from the door. You can sleep here. I’ll take the other bed. You never know what might come through the door.”

You glanced at the clean sheets. This wasn’t right. Dean shouldn’t fold down the blankets. What a strange master he was.

You glanced from the opposite bed and then back at Dean.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather me sleep with you?”

“No, no,” Dean stammered, a bit flustered at how casually you suggested it. “You get your own bed now. Have you ever had your own bed before?”

You nodded shylee. Of course you had. There were times when Alister had been away. Or had been disgusted with you. Then you slept in the little slave shed, though usually on the floor because the only bed was often occupied.  

Dean was still gesturing at the bed. You only wanted to please him. You shuffled around him and sat on the mattress. You kept your body rigid, sitting straight backed, and kept your bare feet on the floor. You glanced at his bed and Dean finally gave up waiting for you to lay down. He sat on his own bed and bent to take off his shoes, but you were there in an instant, tugging at the laces until the knots gave way.

“I can do that,” Dean said, embarrassed that someone was taking his shoes off.

“Please.” you said, looking into his eyes for a brief second. “I want to be useful.”

Dean didn’t protest further. He could see that you looked almost content for that moment you served him. He didn’t want to take that feeling away from you, but hoped that he might find better ways to bring it out in the future. He sighed quietly and lay down his bed. You stood from the floor again and walked over and turned off the light, then made your way back to your bed. You lay down and pulled the covers up, then rolled onto your side and stared at your new master. He seemed to fall asleep very quickly, but then it had been a long day. You didn’t dare close your eyes. What if he needed something in the night? You had to make sure that you would be there to prove that you weren’t a defective slave. Then Dean would be happy he brought you with him, and maybe he would be happy to let you serve him like Alistar had. You remembered how that was the only way that your former master could ever be pleased with you and you wanted to please Dean. Wanted to see the look in his eyes that told you you had done a good job. You could still be useful and wanted to prove it. And maybe that way he wouldn't hurt you.

The black of night was suffocating and seemed to provoke the twisted anxieties clouding your senses.

If only you weren’t afraid so of the dark.


	2. Show Me Your Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter starts a little slow. Fluff/hurt/comfort coming soon! Promise. :)

You didn’t remember falling asleep, but when you awoke, the sun was already up. You gave a silent gasp and sat up in bed, then felt a bit of relief because you noticed Dean was still sleeping. You quickly got out of bed and pulled the covers back over it, smoothing them out and plumping the pillow. When everything was tucked and there were no wrinkles, you moved on to the bathroom. You made sure that there weren’t any water spots on the sink or mirror and then returned from the bathroom to place Dean’s belongings in his duffle. As you were quietly replacing his items you noticed how his shirts were all tossed in like they were asking for wrinkles. You carried the duffel to the far bed and began to pull the shirts out one by one, folding them as you went, until the bag was limp. You matched the loose socks and then carefully placed it all back in the bag. You lifted the bag by the handles and turned to place it back where it had been on the floor.

But when you turned around Dean was sitting up in bed watching you. You dropped the duffel to the ground and fell beside it, kneeling before him, palms pressed to the floor and head down.

“I apologize, master,” you quickly stammered. “I was hoping to finish before you awoke.”

Dean was quick to react, springing from the bed.

“It’s alright,” Dean assured, gently taking your elbow and pulling you up off the floor, “And don’t call me master. Just call me Dean.”

His other hand reached for the duffel and he set it on the bed.

“I saw what you did, how you reorganized it. You didn’t have to do that you know.” Dean finally glanced around the rest of the room and noticed that everything was a little bit tidier than it had been the night before.

Dean sat down on his bed and motioned for you to do the same. You did, but kept your back straight and your eyes down.

“Listen,” He said, placing a hand on each of your shoulders. “”I am not your master. You don’t have a master anymore. You are free.”

“I don’t understand,” you said quietly.

“You are your own master now,” Dean assured. When you finally lifted your eyes to look into his, he lifted his eyebrows slightly in concern and hoped you would understand. “That means that you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. When I took you from Alastair, that is why. He was cruel to you. Did things to you that no one ever should, and probably made you do a lot of horrible things that you didn’t want to. That won’t happen anymore.”

    You were trying hard to understand.

    “Okay?” He asked keeping eye contact.

    You nodded, but you still couldn’t comprehend what he was telling you. Why had he taken you from Alastair if not to serve him?

 

    You were still dressed in Dean’s shirt and though it came down to your mid-thighs, you would need something else if you were to go out in public. With Dean’s encouragement the two of you got in the impala and drove a few blocks until you found a little clothing shop. It was early in the little town and there wasn’t anyone on the streets. Dean parked the car, mumbled something about how he hoped they were open this early, and smiled when he pulled on the door and found it wasn’t locked.

    The door hit a little bell as the two of you entered which was followed by a middle aged woman bustling in from the back room.

    “Hi, how can I help you guys this morning?” He answered cheerily.

    “We need some clothes for her,” he said smiling back, “Just a pair of jeans and a few shirts.”

You were nervous and clutched at the too-long sleeve of Deans shirt with your right hand while still keeping the other in a fist out of view.

    Dean didn’t really know what to do with himself and ended up just walking around looking at random items while the middle-aged woman helped you find a pair of jeans, underwear, and a few shirts. When you were taking too long in the dressing room, she lightly tapped on the door and asked if you needed any help. Ashamed, you nodded, then remembering she couldn’t see you, whispered ‘yes’.

    When you emerged from the dressing room a short while later wearing a new pair of pants and a black, long-sleeved button up blouse Dean smiled. You quickly lowered your gaze and felt so guilty that he was paying for clothes for you. You would have to work extra hard to please him. Make him see that he had not wasted his money.

    Dean gave the store lady some cash and took the bags. Just as the two of you were half way out the door the lady stopped Dean.

    “Er… could I talk to you sir?” she asked hesitantly.

    “Um, okay,” said Dean. He didn’t know where she was coming from, but figured he could spare a moment.

“Why don’t you take these and wait in the car,” he said handing you the bags, “I’ll be out in a sec.”

He gave you a reassuring nod.

You took them and walked across the sidewalk to Dean’s shiny, black car. After putting the bags carefully in the back, you got in the front seat and waited patiently, trying to think of a special service you could do for Dean. You didn’t know what he liked yet, but figured you’d try the basics and go from there. You became nervous at the thought and hoped you could please him.

Back in the store, the clerk walked around the counter to stand next to Dean.

“I don’t know how to put this delicately,” she said, pausing to search for words. “Do you know her well?”

Dean scratched the back of his head and told the truth. Well, almost the truth. He admitted that the two of you had only met the day before, but hinted that it was an abusive boyfriend he had taken you away from.

“I thought so,” the lady said, “Her shyness and reluctance to speak could be the aftermath of her abusive relationship. I just wanted to let you know that she has some nasty scars on her back and shoulders.”

“I know,” said Dean, but those are old wounds and there isn’t anything I can do about those.

    “Yes, but she had a pretty bad looking wound on her hand as well. She wouldn’t let me see it, but she could barely use her hand. That’s why I had to help her out in the dressing room.”

    Dean thought back to last night when you had kneeled before him. He remembered the cloth on your hand now, but at the time he had been too distracted with the rest of your scars and the fact that you were offering yourself to him, to really notice. And he couldn’t remember seeing your hand at all this morning. He figured that you had just been hiding it in the long sleeves of his shirt you wore. Dean became concerned. What else were you hiding. And most importantly why wouldn’t you let him help you.

    “Thank you for telling me,” Dean said, “I’ll get her taken care of.”

    Dean turned to leave but then spoke again as an afterthought.

    “You seem to know a lot about this stuff,” he said.

“My sister...,” the lady said sadly, and trailed off. Dean didn’t want to bring up painful memories, but he clearly needed help.

“Can I ask you something?” he asked.

“Of course,” she replied, coming back to the moment.

    Dean glanced out the window to where you sat in the Impala.

    “How can I help her if she won’t let me? How can I get her to trust me.”

    “I’m afraid that takes time,” the lady said with a sigh. “But if you are patient and completely sincere, she will come around faster. And showing extra affection never hurt either.”

    “Thank you,” he said when the lady was finished, “You have helped more than you know.”

 

    Dean was quiet in the car. And you didn’t dare speak, so the ride was simply silent.

You were watching him out of the corner of your eye though, hoping that you could glean more information about him by his habits and tendencies.

    Dean on the other hand was thinking about what the woman had said. He wasn’t sure how to approach it. Breakfast maybe? The atmosphere might present good opportunities for conversation. And that was something Dean knew he could work on. You had barely said more than a couple of sentences. And he remembered your hand. You hadn't even told him about that. He needed to make you open up.

    He asked if you were hungry and you nodded. You were famished actually, having eaten nothing but a granola bar for more than 24 hours. Dean turned the Impala into a diner parking lot.

    “We’ll see what kind of breakfast foods they have here. Do you like pancakes?”

    “I don’t know,” you said, twisting the hem of your new shirt nervously.

    “You’ve never had pancakes before?” Dean asked in a mock surprised tone. He was trying to be cheery, but it didn’t really register and only lead to more awkward pauses.

    “You’ll like them,” Dean said, and hoped that you would because he felt that even if you didn’t, you wouldn’t ever tell him.

   

After parking the car, the two of you got out and walked into the restaurant. You always stayed a step or two behind him, just as you had been trained by Alastair, but when he opened the door for you at the diner you didn’t even know what to do. It took several awkward seconds before you were able to force yourself through the door before him. Once inside, you stood awkwardly looking around. There were other people. Lots of other people. None of them looked at you, but the fact that there were so many human beings just going about their day, each with a different, yet unknown agenda, frightened you. You felt claustrophobic.

Dean suggested a booth and the two of you sat down.

“Hi, can we get two regulars with bacon and orange juice,” Dean said to the waitress who had followed the two of you to your seats.

“Sure thing, hon,” she replied, writing it down in her little notebook and leaving to put your order through.

You didn’t like being here. You hated being in public in general. There was always so much pressure to perform properly, but you never knew what other people would do. That uncertainty made you anxious and you felt a little sick. It must have showed on your face, though you did your best to hide it, and Dean noticed your expression for the first time.

You weren’t even looking at him but were glancing sideways at a couple that argued quietly in the corner.

This had been a bad idea and Dean knew it. He had just been trying to talk over breakfast, but he doubted if that was going to happen, based on the uncomfortable expression on your face. He pursed his lips and then stood, walking over to the counter.

“We actually changed our minds,” he told the waitress at the cash register, “Can we get that stuff to go? Oh and forget the drinks.”

He paid and the waitress brought out the food in two little boxes.

“Come on,” he said motioning to you, “We’ll just eat in the motel room.”

 

Back at the motel, after the two of you were back in the room, you approached Dean.

“I am sorry,” you said, submissively, “I will learn to act better in public in the future.”

“No it’s not your fault,” Dean said, placing the boxes of food on the tiny table. He pulled out both chairs and sat down on the far one and gestured for you to take the other. You did, and he handed you a fork before opening the boxes and helping himself to pancakes. You were famished and quickly began eating too.

The pancakes were delicious, and when you put the first piece of bacon in your mouth, you couldn’t help but close your eyes at the salty, greasy, explosion of flavor. You didn’t even know food could taste this good.

“I know what you mean,” Dean said smiling. You opened your eyes again, not even realizing that they had been shut. Dean lifted his styrofoam box and scooped the rest of his bacon into yours. You didn’t even protest.

Dean finished his breakfast, not eating nearly as much as you. But then all you’d had in quite a while was one measly granola bar. He licked his plastic fork clean before tossing it in the trash.

“You can have the rest of mine if you’re still hungry,” he said, pushing it towards you slightly, “I can’t eat another bite.”

He let you finish breakfast and moved to one of the beds, pulling out his laptop and settling in, spreading some papers out beside him. You tried not to let him see you watching him. It looked like he was doing some kind of research, though you didn’t know why or what he was even studying. This Dean was a strange man.

 

After you finished breakfast you put both empty styrofoam boxes in the trashcan by the door and walked around the room. You didn’t know what to do with yourself. It seemed that Dean didn’t either and the whole situation was a bit awkward. You wished he would tell you so that you didn’t have to live with this crushing anticipation.

But he didn’t. And eventually you settled at looking at the brochures and pamphlets for local attractions that were piled on the corner of the table. You did know how to read, but with barely any reading material during your years with Alastair, your mind was starving for stimulation.

Suddenly you could feel eyes on you.

“I’ve got some books and things in the car if you want them.”

You kept your eyes down and carefully thought about how to respond. But Dean just got up and moved to the door, coming back a little while later with two books from the trunk of his car.

“I don’t even know what they’re about,” Dean remarked, handing the books to you, “Just something Sam-- my brother that is, used to keep in the trunk for long car rides. He finished them ages ago though and they’ve just been sitting back there.”

You accepted the books, stretching out your hands to take them. Your bandaged palm slipped into view from beneath the long sleeve of your shirt and you hastily covered it again and clutched the books to your chest.

But Dean saw. He also saw how hard you tried to hide it.

“Can I have a look at that?” He asked, reaching out for your hand.

You closed your fist tighter, hurting yourself slightly and turned away.

    “Come on,” Dean coaxed, but you didn’t budge, even when he tugged your arm slightly, and kept it tight to your chest, head down so you couldn’t see his eyes. Such an act would surely end in harsh punishment, but you didn’t want him to see your brand more than you didn’t want him to strike you.

    But Dean simply sighed and turned to the bed again, trying to pretend nothing happened.

    “You’ll have to tell me how those stories end,” he said, and sat himself down on the bed again to resume his research.

You never looked at Dean, but went and sat on the opposite bed, leaning against the headboard, and began to read one of the novels.

And there the two of you sat for the rest of the day, each engrossed in your own work, and both trying so hard to pretend that you weren’t dying to know what was going through the other’s mind.

  
In the evening, Dean’s phone rang. He looked down at the caller ID and said, “I’ve got to take this. I’ll be right outside,” before standing from the bed. He stepped outside to talk and you heard a, “Hey Sammy,” just before the door clicked behind him.

 

Outside in the early night air, Dean sighed.

“So, did you get to Alastair?” Sam asked, skipping the small talk.

“Yeah, um, actually I’m glad you called. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“You didn’t get stabbed again did you,” Sam joked, “Because I’m too far out to come sew you up right now.”

Dean forced a laugh.

“No nothing like that. It’s, um, ...it’s complicated.”

Dean began to walk around the sidewalk, absentmindedly picking at the bricks of the motel wall with the toe of his boot.

    “...Actually Alastair escaped. He left the body he was possessing and I just missed him. I’ve been doing crazy amounts of research. I need to find him before anything else happens. Just end him once and for all, you know. But the complicated part is…well he had this girl chained up. I brought her with me--”

    “Dean, you know--” Sam began to reprimand.

    But Dean instantly defended his actions. “What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t just leave her there. With the demons gone and her chained to the freaking wall, she would have died.”

“So what’s the big problem?” Sam asked.

Dean continued. “She was his slave. And apparently she still thinks she is one. Like I’m her new master or something, even though I’ve tried to explain it to her. And she’s got some kind of injury on her hand, but she won’t let me look at it. She’s sort of jumpy and scared too. I don’t have the heart to tell her that Alastair is still out there. I just don’t know what to do for her. ”

“So why not take her to some sort of rehabilitation center,” Sam suggested, “Or one of those shelters for battered women.”

“I can’t, Sammy,” Dean said, closing his eyes as if that would make his brother understand.

“Why not?” Sam asked, “Dean, we do this all the time. You saved her life, and now you move on. That’s the drill. You don’t owe her anything and I could use your help with a few demons of my own here. Cas is MIA. Something’s going on in heaven and I’m left to do this by myself.”

“I’ll try to get there as soon as possible,” Dean replied, now feeling guilty that he was letting his brother down, “But I can’t just take her to a shelter. I can’t... because every time I look at her… I don’t know. She needs my help Sam, and I don’t want her to get tossed in the system without anyone really taking care of her. ...She needs me.”

Dean listened to his brother’s quiet breathing on the other end of the phone, hoping that his brother would give him some sort of direction. He didn’t know what to do here.

“Look, we both know that I am 90% crap,” Dean continued, “And you know better than anyone that I’ve made a lot of bad mistakes in my life. I just feel like leaving her now would be one of them. And I just ...can’t.”

Sam was quiet for a long moment.

“You know what, take as long as you need,” he said finally, “I can handle these demons and I’m sure Cas will turn up soon.”

“Are you sure?” Dean asked, still feeling terribly guilty for leaving his brother alone on a hunt.

“Yeah,” Sam said, like it was no big deal, and then he paused before getting serious again. “I can tell this is important to you.”

    Dean sighed slightly in relief. He was glad Sam hadn’t persisted about needing help.

    “Thanks Sam. I’ll get there as soon as possible.”

 

    After ending the call, Dean didn’t go inside straight away. He leaned on the cement barrier that separated the sidewalk from the parking lot to think. He was going to have to try some new approach to helping you. The first step, he decided, was to make you understand that you weren’t inferior. That your life mattered just as much as anyone elses. Once you understood that, he figured he could get you to start talking and looking him in the eye. Maybe then everything else would become easier. He still worried about your hand though. Whatever was wrong with it, it needed cleaning and a bandage. But if you refused to show him, he decided that pushing you wasn’t going to help. It would just take time.

 

When Dean finally entered the room again, you were in the bathroom, so he set to cleaning his weapons. Little did he know that you had taken the opportunity of him leaving the room and were cleaning up, preparing to show Dean how good you could be. You still felt so guilty for the days earlier events, but you hoped that feeling would go away if you could please him. You glanced in the mirror to make sure you looked acceptable dressed in his shirt again. Your heart sank when you saw your scar. You weren’t used to looking in a mirror every day, and that made it easier for you to forget about it. Now that you had a moment to look at it you could see how prominent it was and imagined the thoughts that must go through Dean’s head every time he looked at you. But then Dean didn’t need to look at your face to use you. You concentrated on this fact and stepped out of the bathroom.

You approached him submissively.

“Mast-- Dean” you corrected, speaking softly, “Is there anything you require of me. I would like to be of use. And to thank you for my new clothes and the books.”

    Dean looked up from his weapons and set them back on the bed and turned to face you. You glanced up at him with wide eyes knowing that asking if anything was required of you was a dangerous ploy because the outcome could be anything. But you also wanted to show that you could be a good slave.

    Dean stood and approached you, gently holding your arm so that you followed him to sit on the bed you slept on.

“The clothes and books were a gift. And I don’t _require_ anything from you. How many times do I have to tell you. You are free now.”

    Dean could tell that the things he said weren’t helping.

    “Am I really so defective that you have no use for me?” You closed your eyes and braced yourself for the hit you knew was coming after what you had just said.

    He didn’t hit you, but instead let out a long breath.

    Dean never hit you, and you found that strange.

    “Alright, you want to do something for me?” Dean asked as he pulled down the blankets on the bed, “Then you can let me see your scars. Unbutton your shirt and lay down for me.”

Your eyes grew wide and you looked at him fearfully. The last thing you wanted to do was display your flaws. You didn’t know why he wanted to see them anyway. Maybe he wanted to see your former masters work.

“Come on,” he said patting the sheets, “Lay on your stomach.”

    You were scared and very self-conscious, but you did just as Dean asked. It was easier this way. Easier to know what he wanted when he phrased things like direct orders. You unbuttoned your shirt and he turned away slightly while you were exposed. You didn’t completely remove the shirt however, and then laid down on the bed with your stomach down and your face pressed into the pillow and arms at your sides, completely submitting yourself to Dean. This was what you were used to. This was what you had been expecting all along. And you closed your eyes, ready to accept it.

    “You think that your scars make you inferior?” Dean asked slowly, sitting down beside you, one leg folded beneath him.

    You were facing away from him and couldn’t see his face. Nodding your head against the pillow you whispered, “I wasn’t good enough for my last master. And they will always be proof of that.”

Your voice shook as you told this to Dean. You remembered the pain, the ache you felt the first time that Alastair had whipped you. You remembered the sting the ropes had made on your flesh. The bite of the cold metal that often shackled your wrists. The feeling of blood trickling from your wounds. You remembered the hateful words that he had screamed at you. And most of all you remembered how worthless he made you feel.

    Dean slowly pulled your shirt from off your shoulders, gently sliding your arms out of the sleeves, and then tossed it at the foot of the bed.

    And there you lay with your flaws exposed, so ashamed that all you wanted to do was hide. But you stayed perfectly still, just as you had been trained.

    When Dean first touched his warm hand to your skin you quietly gasped.

    “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to frighten you,” he said.

He slowly traced the stripes on your back with his fingertips. You gave an involuntary shiver at his touch. He was so gentle. Not at all as you had been touched in the past.

    “You think that these marks show you are useless,” Dean stated, changing the direction that he caressed your broken skin, “But to me they show that you have a fighting spirit. You have suffered untold pains and have never given up. You are strong.”

    You began to tremble, but Dean wasn’t finished.

    “These marks don’t define you. They are a part of you, but it’s not who you are. They might be an ugly reminder of what Alastair did to you, but you don’t have to dwell on that anymore. Because you’re free now.”

For a moment Dean stopped moving his hands along your back. Then he bent and pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder. You took a sharp intake of breath and the tears welled up in your eyes. Dean placed another kiss on your opposite shoulder, resuming lightly touching you with his hands and followed his kisses with his thumbs. Your tears spilled over and you were shaking uncontrollably now.

“This isn’t proper. You shouldn’t be-- master, please--” you stammered, voice breaking. The last words had barely come out as a whisper.

But Dean didn’t hear you as he covered your shoulders with more soft kissed before moving lower down your back. It was as if each mark his warm lips made was on fire, burning away your insecurities.

Dean paused between kisses to contradict you, “I am no better than you. Not superior to you. If anything is proper, making you understand that is.”

His lips went lower, touching every poorly healed wound with gentle ease, his warm breath soothing away the goosebumps that covered your bare flesh.

“These scars were inflicted by a master. They are proof of cruelty and pain. I am not your master.” He placed a final kiss on your spine before adding, “And I will never hurt you.”

You whimpered as he said these words, the flow of tears spilling silently from your eyes, soaking the pillow beneath you. All you wanted was to not feel pain again, to stop living in fear. You had been prepared to do everything he asked of you to ensure this, but now he was offering it to you freely, requiring nothing in return.

Dean retrieved your blouse and smoothly put your arms through the sleeves, careful of your bandaged hand, and pulled it once again up to your shoulders. You closed your eyes and pulled the shirt around you, balling your hands into fists beneath you against your chest and curled in on yourself. You didn’t deserve this.

The mattress sank a little as Dean shifted to lay beside you. You were facing the other way but could feel his eyes on you and in your mind you could almost see his compassionate expression. You were still trembling, but he didn’t move to calm your shaking shoulders. Instead he placed a hand on your waist and gently turned you over so that you were now laying on your side facing him. You didn’t want him to see your silent tears and brought your hands up to your face to hide them, holding your breath to keep in the sound of your labored inhales.

“I’m not finished yet,” Dean said softly and brought his hands to rest on top of both of yours, tenderly coaxing you to lower them from your face. You didn’t fight him and let him gently move your hands until they rested on his chest. You could feel his heartbeat rhythmically pounding beneath his shirt.

“My heart beats just like yours. I bleed red just like you. We are both human. We are the same.”

You raised your eyes and stared into his impossibly green ones. His face was just inches from yours and you could feel his breath on your cheek as he spoke.

He still held your palms against his chest with one hand, and the other he slowly raised to your face. He used his thumb to brush away the tears that had run down your left cheek over your scar. You breathed sharply when he touched it and closed your eyes again, more tears seeping out, and tried to ignore the stabbing you felt in your heart. You didn’t even know what emotion this was. His palm remained on your face and his fingertips tangled with your hair. You could hear his breathing and felt his warmth a moment before his soft lips touched your brow, barely leaving your skin again before slowly placing a second and then a third chaste kiss along your imperfections. You couldn’t keep it in anymore. A sob heaved forth from your chest followed by an ever increasing flow of tears. Your whole body trembled and your hands clutched at his shirt as you wept. He pulled your head into his chest and embraced you. Tears soaked into his shirt, but Dean didn’t even notice, cradling your head and whispering soothingly in your ear.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” he breathed, “Just let it go.”

He shifted for a moment to tug at the blankets at the foot of the bed before pulling them up and tucking them around the two of you like a soft cocoon.

His hands smoothed over your hair as your feelings overflowed. You couldn’t even remember the last time you cried. It was so long ago that you had learned to turn your emotions off. After a while you had become empty inside. You expressed nothing.

 

And now, even though you were sobbing uncontrollably, there was something pleasant about remembering what it was like to feel at all.

You were alive again.


	3. How About A Hot Bath

In the morning the sun was already high in the sky when you awoke. It must have been approaching noon. You never understood why crying was so exhausting, but you had slept for hours longer than you ever had before. Dean had stayed with you the whole night, holding you close to him. But now he was sitting across the room, laptop open on the little table and papers spread out across its surface. Dean noticed that you were awake.

“Good morning,” he said, smiling up from his work.

You blushed deeply.

“I thought I’d let you sleep as long as possible. God knows you needed it. How long has it been since you have slept a full night like that?”

“It’s been a while,” you confirmed, looking him in the eyes as you spoke.

“I’ve just been doing some research. Again. I’m not always this boring I promise.”

You gave a shy smile at his joke.

“Now that you’re awake I can ask you how you feel about leaving this place. I have a little apartment just a few hours from here. I know it’s another change, so we can stay here a few more nights if that would make you more comfortable.”

No one had really put your comfort before their own before, and you were quite shocked at his statement. He was right, though. Leaving for a new place did make you a little nervous. If he had suggested this the first evening, you would have been more scared. But after what he had done for you last night, you were beginning to trust this man.

“I think that would be a good idea,” you said, and for the first time you said your own opinion and not just what you thought he wanted to hear.

 

You dressed in the bathroom while Dean gathered his few belongings and shoved them in his duffle. You emerged with his shirt in your hands and realized that it was the only belonging you had in the world besides the clothes you were wearing and the books he had given you. Literally everything you owned had been given to you by Dean. You retrieved the books, and sat on one of the beds, watching as he gathered his papers and shut his laptop. After making a final sweep of the room, Dean grabbed the room key from the table.

“You ready,” he asked, and you nodded.

He pulled the duffel off the bed and gripped his laptop in his other hand. He tried to shuffle the items to free up a hand, but quickly gave up.

“Hey would you mind carrying these?” he asked, gesturing to his cluttered stack of papers.

You stepped forward eager to help.

The two of you exited the room, Dean locking it behind you. After stashing his things in the trunk of the impala, he remembered the key and jogged off to the main office to return it. You climbed in the passenger side seat and waited for him to return, all the while clutching the shirt and books he had given you in your hands. You hadn't thrown them in the trunk with the laptop and the papers. You hadn't owned anything before, and it felt nice to hold something that was yours.

Dean soon returned, and started the car, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the highway.

 

Dean liked the highway, It was the one thing in his life that was constant. It was always there, rolling past under the wheels of his car. Mostly it was familiar. No matter where he went across the whole country, he always knew that it would be the same. The same pitch black asphalt striped with yellow dotted lines. And they always lead him home again too, wherever that might be.

His thoughts turned to you. Did you even have a home?

“So, um, where are you from?” Dean asked, breaking the silence that had persisted for the last fifteen miles.

“I’m not sure,” you admitted. You did have a few memories of before you lived with Alastair, but they were more like flashes and nothing really made any sense.

“Maybe when we get back to my apartment we can look some things up online,” Dean suggested, “I mean a girl can’t just disappear without anyone making some kind of record of it.”

You nodded. You hadn't told Dean everything, and although you couldn’t remember the details of how you had ended up with Alastair, from what little you did know, you doubted that he would be able to find anything.

  
After several hours of driving and classic rock, Dean finally turned the car into his apartment parking lot.

“It’s not a house,” he said, “But it’s sort of a temporary thing. I don’t need much anyway.”

Dean unlocked the door and carried his things inside and you followed closely behind him. When you walked in you looked around, taking a moment to let it all in. It looked wonderful. Yes it was small, but there was a certain charm to it. Dean didn’t do much for decorating, but there were stacks of books and strange bottles containing what looked like animal bones and teeth as well as other indescribable items were laying on every surface. Papers with notes and strange symbols were scattered on the desk and several were pinned to the walls. A little table in the corner with a lamp hanging over it had a pile of empty shotgun shells and rock salt, and several knives and guns lay on the coffee table.

You passed through the living room and glanced into the kitchen. It appeared that the shelves were mostly filled with canned foods. The fridge was small and had a few magnets with the numbers and logos of pizza joints and an autobody shop stuck to the front of it.

Dean set down his duffel in the living room and added his laptop to the stack of papers that cluttered the desk.

“Like I said, its small. Bathroom’s through here,” he explained pointing, “And the bedroom is next to it. And that’s pretty much it. Make yourself at home. You hungry?”

He didn’t wait for you to answer before saying, “I think there’s some canned soup in the kitchen. I’ll get that warming up. Meanwhile you can have a look around.”

You nodded your thanks.

It felt strange to have so much freedom. You weren’t confined to a small room here. You weren’t even banned from any rooms in the apartment for that matter. It was a little unnerving honestly. You were so used to having strict rules to follow and almost didn’t know what to do with yourself when they weren’t there anymore.

 

When dinner was ready the two of you sat at the tiny table in the kitchen. The soup was good and filled your stomach, warming you from the inside out.

When you were finished, Dean took your dishes from you and rinsed them in the sink. It felt strange when he did little things like that. It would take some getting used to.

Mustering all of your courage you looked at Dean across the room.

“Would it be alright if I took a shower again?” you asked nervously, “I’ll be very quick and I’ll only use cold water.”

Dean’s expression fell and he looked at you with sad eyes once more. You didn’t know what made him do that. You broke eye contact, suddenly becoming very interested in the scratches on the kitchen table.

He came and sat in his chair again.

“How about a hot bath instead?”

  
Dean had started the tub filling up while you undressed in the bedroom. You entered the bathroom a little while later, wrapped in the fluffy towel he had handed you. Dean was sitting on the edge of the tub with his hand in the water, making sure that the temperature was alright. When he noticed you at the door he turned off the tap and stood to leave.

“I’ll be right outside if you need anything. And take as long as you want.”

You didn’t deserve this. Why was he doing this for you? You became overwhelmed at his kindness and thought your steps toward him might falter. You had never had a bath before and couldn’t imagine how it must feel to immerse your stiff body into the hot water.

“Thank you, Dean,” you said, because that was all you could manage. He must have seen the rest in your eyes though, and he smiled warmly before exiting the room, leaving the door open just a crack.

You eased yourself down into the hot water, keeping your injured hand from getting wet as you settled in the tub, stretching your legs out and sinking lower until you were comfortably reclined. The heat was so soothing on your tired muscles. You hadn’t dreamed that a bath would feel like this. You exhaled deeply, closing your eyes and let the heat soak deep into your skin, becoming so relaxed it took a bit of effort to resist sleep.

Although Dean had said you could take as long as you wanted, you still didn’t want to be an inconvenience for him and figured you should wash yourself before it got too late. You scrubbed your legs, cleaning them of the dust that had collected in the tiny lines of your skin. When they were clean you looked over the small bruises that randomly dotted your shins. At least those would disappear with time. The brand on your flesh might fade slightly, but it it would never be completely gone.

After quickly washing the rest of your body, you gently pulled the dirty fabric aside to look at you palm.

“Can I come in?” Dean’s sudden voice at the crack in the door startled you and you jumped slightly making the water slosh around you.

You quickly covered your hand again and clutched the side of the tub, somewhat hiding your form before answering with a soft, “Yes.”

Dean opened the door and entered.

    He took a few steps toward you and then asked, “Would you let me take a look at that?” gesturing at your bandaged hand gripping the side of the tub.

    You pulled it out of view self-consciously, closing your hand around the pathetic makeshift bandage.

    “It’s fine,” you assured him looking away, but he didn’t believe you for a second.

    “I’ve been around a lot of injuries. I know that one’s not fine. It needs medication and you need a real bandage on it.”

    You noticed that he was clutching a small first aid kit in his hands. “Please?” he implored, “I’ll be very gentle.”

    That wasn’t what you were concerned about. You didn’t want him to see it at all.

    Dean reached down and grabbed a small stool sitting in the corner of the bathroom. He walked forward, placed it on the floor beside the tub, and sat down on it. The stool was short enough that Dean was barely sitting higher than your eye level. The way he looked at you, you knew that he was just trying his best to help. And you looked up at him in a way that you hoped would convey to him that you weren’t scared of him, but were still self conscious about showing him your wound.

    You weren’t sure if Dean understood as he reached out to you, fingers curled slightly in toward his upward palm, patiently waiting. You glanced from his hand to his eyes and then looked down at your hand, fingers still closed over your palm. In a moment of surrender and complete trust you stretched out your hand palm up and place it in Dean’s. He smiled and repeated assurances that he would be as gentle as possible.

    You took a deep breath and relaxed your hand letting your fingers go limp. Dean carefully untied the knots you had used to secure the bandage in place. When they were finally unfastened, he slowly began to unwrap the cloth from your hand. You winced when the gentle tugs of the cloth put pressure on your skin and Dean immediately stopped moving and made sure you were okay before continuing. You hid your face and tried to hold back tears. Dean was about to find out what you had been trying to keep hidden from him for the past three days. He was almost finished when, in a moment of panic, you pulled back not wanting him to see, hiding your hand and clasping the fabric that covered yet another of your deformities. He didn’t stop you from retreating or clutching your hand to your chest again. He did however raise his hand slowly and smooth it over your hair.

    “I won’t rush you,” he said, understanding how hard this must be for you.

He remained by your side in silence for several minutes before you finally mustered all of your courage and surrendered your hand to him once again, silent tears rolling down your cheeks. He took it slowly and resumed where he had left off. Dean was careful with the fabric in case it was stuck to the wound, but it came off easily, having only been applied several days after the injury was inflicted. With one last loop around your hand, your palm was exposed.

    Dean tried to hide his shock, but you saw right through the ruse. He had assumed it was a cut or gash. But there in the center of your hand was an ‘S’ shaped brand, burned into your soft flesh. The surrounding skin was deep red and shiny and blisters had formed in the center of the burn mark.

    Tear’s fell from your cheeks and splashed into the bathwater, causing tiny ripples which you watched closely, pretending they were interesting. Anything to keep yourself from looking at Dean. Now he saw further proof of your disfigurement.

    “Did Alastair do this to you?” Dean asked in a stern tone. He didn’t understand how anyone could ever do this to another person. But then Alastair wasn’t human.

    You quickly nodded.

    “I’m sorry,” Dean said hastily, “I’m not angry at you.”

You could tell his rage was aimed at your former master and not yourself.

    He calmed once again when he realized that all he could do right now was try to heal you. He examined the burn carefully then pulled some things out of the first aid kit and set them in his lap. Resting your chin on the edge of the tub, you watched as he retrieved a bottle of clear gel and opened the lid. After squeezing a bit out of the bottle, he used the edge of his pinky to softly rub it over the burned skin. He hadn’t lied before. He was being very gentle. The gel felt cool on your skin and seemed to take some of the heat out of your burned flesh. It was the first time since it happened that it didn’t feel like your palm was on fire. Dean lightly blew on your blistered hand, glancing up at you as he did so. You had closed your eyes as the cool sensation relieved your pain.

    After a few minutes Dean pulled a clean bandage from the first aid kit and applied it to your wound, covering it up and hopefully protecting it from bumps and preventing it from getting infected. He tenderly cradled your hand like it was something precious and it was strange for you to be treated with such care. When he was finished, he didn’t let go of your hand, but softly ran his fingers along your thumb and brought your fingertips to his lips, kissing them slowly. You opened your eyes and watched him, feeling completely unworthy of his affections.

    “Why are you so kind to me,” you asked quietly?

“You’ve never given me reason not to be,” Dean said shrugging. You held your gaze, letting him know that that answer wasn’t good enough. You wanted the honest truth.

Dean shifted his weight on the stool and thought for a long moment before speaking.

“When I first saw you, chained and alone in that shed, I helped you because that’s the human thing to do. I don’t think that I acted differently than any sane guy would,” he said, pausing again to find the right words. “When you offered yourself to me the first night, I admit, I pitied you. I didn’t understand that that was how you had lived for most of your life. When you showed me your scars, I realized that there was no one else who needed kindness more than you did at that moment. But it’s more than that now. I can’t explain why... Hell, I don’t understand it myself. I barely know you, but for some reason I care about you... A lot… and I just want to make sure that you never have to feel pain again.”

He glanced away shyly, realizing how open he had been and felt a bit vulnerable for it. “I’m afraid I can’t explain it any better than that.”

You couldn’t think of a single reason that Dean should care about you. But you could tell that he meant what he had said. And his actions so far backed it.

His hand still held yours and you moved your fingers to his wrist and then brought his palm to your lips. Closing your eyes, you kissed his warm skin, then held his hand against your cheek, wanting to feel closer to him and furrowing your brow in a silent expression that told Dean you never wanted to let go. He brought his other hand to your opposite cheek and soothingly caressed your temple with his thumb before bending his neck to kiss the top of your hair. He pulled back and ran his fingers over your hair.

You inhaled deeply, taking in every touch, every feeling, every emotion, and hoping it would never end.

But eventually, when the bath water was getting cold, Dean pulled away and said, “Let’s get you dried off.

Dean pulled your towel off the rack on the wall and unfolded it, holding it out in his wide arms and turning his head, looking away respectfully. This was a gesture you were especially foreign to. You stood in the tub and waited a moment for most of the water to drain off of your body before stepping out onto the floor. Dean wrapped you in the fluffy white towel before exiting the bathroom.

“I’ll leave you to get dressed,” he said and closed the door behind him.

After pulling a comb through your wet hair, you pulled the drain in the tub, letting the water slowly drain out as you returned to the bedroom to get dressed.

 

You pulled your hands through the sleeves of Dean’s shirt and buttoned it in the middle. You folded up the collar, holding it to your nose and inhaled the familiar scent of whisky and leather.

Your bare feet tread lightly on the floor as you entered the living room. Turning the corner, you saw Dean spreading a blanket on the couch.

He saw you enter and paused turning the couch into a makeshift bed to speak.

“I’ll sleep in here. You can take my bed.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll sleep on the couch. You have already done too much for me. It’s your bed. You should sleep in it.”

You were rambling.

“You’re right,” Dean said, “It is my bed. And I want you to have it. Nothing you say is going to change my mind, so you might as well just take it.”

  
Dean’s bed was comfortable. The sheets smelled good too. You snuggled into the pillow and tried to go to sleep, but you couldn’t. The shadows on the walls were unfamiliar and when the wind outside carried the autumn leaves across the sidewalk, the sound brought back bad memories. You dug yourself deeper into the blankets and tried to calm your mind. It didn’t seem to help. Visions of Alastair waiting outside the window flashed into your mind. You twisted your head to look, and of course, there was nothing there. But the idea was haunting none the less. When a tree branch tapped against the glass, you jumped and almost cried out.

You swung your knees over the side of the bed, bare feet touching the carpet. You crept to the open door and passed through it, walking quietly through the tiny hallway and into the living room where Dean was asleep on the couch.

You didn’t want to wake him. He had already gone to so much trouble for you that evening and you didn’t want to be even more of an inconvenience. You looked down at him on the couch.

He was sleeping on his back and his head was turned slightly to the side. His lips were together and his face looked completely expressionless. You hadn’t really noticed until now how perfect his features were.

The wind outside picked up again, making unfamiliar sounds. You didn’t want to wake him, but you were frightened. You prayed he wouldn’t be mad at you and then quietly whispered, “Dean?”

His eyes opened slowly and he looked at you groggily.

“Hey,” he said gently, his voice still a bit strained, “Is everything alright?”

He cleared his throat and sat up on the couch.

You stood beside it and brought your hands to your head, partially covering your face.

“I’m sorry Dean,” you said, and you meant it, “I didn’t want to wake you, or ask anything else from you, ...but I got scared.”

“No, it’s okay,” Dean assured, “I’m glad you woke me. I would hate to think of you laying in bed scared all night. What was it exactly?”

You exhaled, relieved that he wasn't angry, but also feeling very guilty for waking him.

“It was Alastair,” you said softly, “I can’t stop picturing him standing outside the window or door, looking at me, and waiting. I know it’s stupid. I mean you killed him, right? So I don’t know why he still scares me.”

Dean stood up from the couch and put the blanket around your shoulders, rubbing your arms.

“Would it be okay if I slept with you?” he asked.

You nodded, glad that he had been the one to suggest it. You had thought about it as well, but had been too scared to ask.

After the two of you made your way to the bedroom, you climbed back into the bed and Dean shifted the covers, scooting in beside you and wrapping his arms around you from behind. He pulled your back against his chest, and soon your legs were tangled with his. His hand was tossed over your body and placed on top of your own.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispered, and kissed the back of your head before drifting off back to sleep.

Your body felt relaxed again and you felt safe in Dean’s arms, quickly following him into unconsciousness.


	4. Bad Memories and Pizza

The next morning Dean was up before you. He showered and brushed his teeth, once again giving you as much time as possible to sleep. When it was time to wake you up, Dean approached the bed but then hesitated. You looked so peaceful he hated to disturb you. Your hair fell slightly over your eyelids and touched your lashes. Your breathing was deep and slow, and the blankets were tucked around you while your hand loosely clutched at the pillow. When Dean saw you like this, at this moment when you were so vulnerable, all he wanted to do was protect you. He would make sure nothing hurt you ever again. He recognized that his feelings toward you were growing more intense. He would do anything for the people closest to him and for the first time in a while, he was beginning to feel that same innate protectiveness toward someone other than just his brother. But Dean wasn’t afraid of that feeling. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Stooping down, he brushed the hair out of your eyes and planted a kiss on your temple, softly whispering, “It’s time to wake--”

But before he could finish your eyes shot open and you were frantically scrambling away from him backwards, tangling yourself in the sheets and bumping the bedside table. The lamp was knocked over, shattering the bulb, and the alarm clock clattered to the floor. There was a raw fear in your eyes that Dean had never seen before and it concerned him. Had you thought he was Alastair? Or something worse? There was no knowing what kind of horrors you had woken up to in the past.

You quickly realized where you were and the fear left your eyes, only to be replaced with shame.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” you stammered and untangled yourself from the sheets to clean up the glass shards on the table and floor. Dean circled around to the other side of the bed to help you.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he assured you.

When the glass was cleaned up and every piece collected onto a scrap of newspaper, Dean carried it into the bathroom and dropped it in the garbage. You slumped against the bed and pulled your knees up to your chest. You pulled your fingers inside the too-long sleeves of Deans shirt and balled them into fists, bringing them up to your chest. Letting out a sigh, you leaned your head down until your lips rested on your hands. Each breath you exhaled into the cloth collected in the fabric and warmed your face and hands. Dean returned from the bathroom and came to sit on the floor beside you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, genuinely concerned.

“Yeah,” you said, taking your hands away from your mouth, “It was just a bad memory. I forgot where I was and thought I was back with Alastair. But I’m okay now.”

“Do you want to tell me?” he asked slowly, “It might help to talk about it.”

You knew Dean was probably right. And you had come to trust him. Still, it was hard for you to open up like that. Too many years of hiding and habits built on fear could not be be so easily erased. But it was a start. You nodded and told Dean your story.

 

“I was really young when was taken to live with Alastair. I don’t remember how it happened and I don’t remember very much before it happened. I only remember waking up scared every morning after that. Alastair later told me that my father was in some kind of financial trouble. He and my mother made some sort of deal. They traded me to get out of trouble and stay out of prison.”

Dean furrowed his brow at the thought and he put his hand on your knee, encouraging you to continue. He knew how painful it was for you and assured you that you didn’t have to continue if you didn’t feel comfortable.

“It’s alright,” you told him, “I want someone to know.”

You took a deep breath and continued.

“Alastair was creative. He used me for whatever he pleased. Mostly he wanted a woman to fulfil his carnal fantasies, but sometimes he put me to work. And sometimes he just needed someone to hurt. He was creative about it too. He dislocated my shoulder once. It took a doctor to put it in place and once it was healed, he whipped me for costing him money.”

You somewhat absentmindedly put your fingertips to the scar on your face. “This one was his favorite though. One night he had me tied to the bed. When I resisted, he was furious. I had never seen him so angry before. He used a knife to do this to me, telling me the whole time that every time I felt the scar--” your voice finally broke and you swallowed, determined to finish, even if all you could manage was a whisper.

“Every time I feel this scar I am suppose remember that I am alone. That no one wants me, and that no one ever will. Especially not with a distorted face like mine.”

You stared ahead, but your eyes saw nothing but the memory. You felt so empty inside. A tear spilled over onto your cheek. You used your sleeve to wipe it away and and came back into the moment. You cleared your throat before speaking.  

“I’m sorry,” you said to Dean when you had regained your composure, “All I do these days is cry. I don’t want to put any of this on you. It’s not your problem.”

Dean didn’t speak for the longest time, but kept his hand on your knee, occasionally moving his thumb against your bare leg.

You exhaled, letting some of the pent up feelings escape with your breath. Dean had been right. It did feel good to tell someone. Now at least he knew. There weren’t any more secrets and you had nothing left to hide. And that was a good feeling. You didn’t really expect him to respond and were okay when he just sat there with you in silence, his gentle touch soothing away any lasting fear from your earlier incident on the bed.

“Should we eat breakfast?” you finally suggested. You moved your hand to the bed and used it to help yourself into a standing position. You held out your hand to Dean and he took it, letting you help him to his feet. Just as you turned to walk away from him, he spoke.

“He was wrong you know,” Dean said, finally breaking his silence.

You turned back and looked up at him, slightly confused about what he was referring to.

“You’re not alone...”

His words tugged at your heart and Dean reached out his hand, pulling you back to him. He looked at you a moment before folding you into his arms. You accepted his embrace, though you still felt unworthy of his affections. Unlike Alastair’s cold and bony form, Dean was warm and firm and something about the way he held you made you want to curl up against him and let his arms completely envelop you. After a long moment Dean pulled back to look at you.

“--and this scar,” he continued, raising his hand to outline its mark on your cheek, “It doesn’t stop me from wanting you. From wanting to hold you and just be with you. From wanting to protect you.”

He leaned down and moved his lips toward yours, going slow enough that you could resist if you wanted. You weren’t sure at first and breathed in sharply through your nose, but at that moment, his lips gently collided with yours and you lost all your fear. The kiss was slow and chaste, nothing but his warm lips moving against yours. It ended as quickly, Dean not wanting to go too fast. He went in for one last quick peck on your lips before embracing you again.

How could this man make you go from feeling so empty to now feeling like your soul was overflowing?

You nuzzled into his chest and he extended his neck so that your head rested under his chin.

“Are you an angel?” you asked, barely joking.

Dean just laughed.

“No, but I have a friend who is. You should meet him sometime.”

 

Dean went about his day, enthralled in books and papers with his laptop set out before him. Whatever he was researching must have been really important. You never asked him about it though, figuring it was his business.

You wandered around the apartment a bit, looking through the stacks of papers and books scattered about, but many of them had information on demons and other creatures and the grotesque images were a bit frightening. They were very real to you and you didn’t like looking at them.  He only had a few pictures around the house, and none of them were very recent.

    “Who’s this?” you asked Dean, pointing to a picture of him with his arm around a slightly taller guy. Both of them were holding beers and their mouths were open in laughter.

    “That’s my brother, Sam,” Dean answered, looking up from his laptop.   
    Sam. You remembered the phone call back at the hotel now.

    “You guys look happy,” you remarked.

    “We were,” Dean said, “That was the night he graduated from high school.”

    “You make it sound like the happiness didn’t last,” you said, tipping your head slightly in question.

    “Well it was only a few months after that that he left for stanford. He got in a big fight with my dad. It seemed all they ever did was butt heads. He took off for Stanford and I didn’t see him for a while. Later our dad disappeared on a hunt and I went to get him for help. He came with me and, well, a lot of years later and here we are.”

    You turned back to the picture. Dean looked different then. Younger of course, but there was also a different look in his eye. His expression was more hardened now, more experienced, but it still turned gentle when he addressed you.

   

Later you continued to read the books he had given you that first day, becoming hooked on the beautiful story, raw characters, and rich settings. You were addicted to the life of the characters. Anything different from your own past.

For lunch, Dean cooked hamburgers in the kitchen. You hadn’t ever cooked them before and he showed you how he liked to make them.

    “I like to make mine a little bigger in diameter,” Dean explained, raising an eyebrow like this was some kind of secret that the rest of the world didn’t know about yet. “That way, when you take a bite you always get meat. There is nothing as bad as taking a bite out of a burger and only getting a bit of lettuce and tomato on the bun.”

    You smiled. Dean seemed to have things figured out and knew what he liked. You wondered what kind of habits and preferences you would have developed had you been given the chance.

    After the meal, Dean brushed his fingers together to get rid of the crumbs and licked his lips before asking, “If you could find out, would you want to know where you came from? I know you have a lot of painful memories, but aren’t you curious?”

    You thought for a long moment. The idea of having any kind of family hadn’t really occurred to you before. You knew you had one, but you didn’t have any distinct memories of them. And you had always dismissed them. Parents who traded their daughter for a deal could hardly be called family.

    “I don’t know,” you answered, creasing your eyebrows.

    “I mean you wouldn’t have to act on any of it, but at least you would know where you are from,” Dean assured, “Only if you want to though.”

    “If you are there with me, I think I would like that,” you replied.

 

    Dean was good at research. You told him everything you could remember about where you lived as a child. You were lucky that you knew the name of the town. Lucky Alastair had mentioned it once or twice, keeping it in your memories. That was probably the most important piece of information you had to go on. After all, it is hard to find evidence a girl who has been ‘missing’ for so long when you couldn’t even remember her name.

   

    You and Dean had only been talking and researching for a couple of hours before time began to drag. You simply couldn’t connect enough dots to find anything marginally important.

    “How about we take a break,” Dean said, stretching his arms, “We don’t seem to be getting anywhere and my eyes are starting to hurt.”

You agreed, and said that you would tell him any more details if you remembered them.

 

Dean ordered pizza for dinner and the two of you sat on the couch talking until the delivery man arrived. Dean mostly told you stories about himself and his brother. Even through all the dangerous and crazy situations they had gotten themselves into over the years, they seemed very close. It made you wish you had something like that.

“I got a text from him this morning,” Dean said, just remembering, “Before you were awake. He just finished a job and is coming this way. How would you feel about having dinner with him? I understand if you aren’t comfortable with it.”

“No, I would love to meet Sam,” you interjected.

“Im glad,” Dean replied, “ I think you’d really like him.”

There was a knock at the door and Dean got up to answer it. When he returned he had a hot pizza in his hands. He set it on the coffee table and you got two beers from the fridge, returning to sit beside him. The two of you ate, the cheese stretching into hot strings with every bite. All the while Dean kept trying to make you laugh with bad puns and jokes. And you did. You had forgotten what that even felt like, but once you started you couldn’t stop. Dean laughed too, though it seemed like it was mostly because of you.

When you were both full, you leaned back on the couch. Dean tossed a crust in the box and leaned back too, scooting closer to you. You smiled.

“Thanks for today,” you said sincerely.

“It’s not over yet?” Dean said, “You’re not getting tired are you?”

“No,” you laughed, “I just didn’t think it could get any better than this.”

“I was thinking a movie and popcorn,” he suggested, and pushed himself up off the couch to go start the popcorn.

 

    When the movie was over, you were sound asleep curled up against Dean’s side with your head resting on his arm. He grabbed the remote with his other hand and flicked off the TV, stopping the credits music. At the sudden silence you opened your eyes.

    “Aw, I missed the ending,” you said groggily, eyes still half closed.

    “Maybe you can finish it tomorrow,” Dean laughed. “For now we should get to bed. It’s getting late. Do you still want me to sleep with you?”

    “If that’s okay,” you answered, closing your eyes again sleepily.

    Dean smiled widely.

    “Sure,” he said, not wanting to admit that that was what he wanted too.

    You didn’t move to get up and Dean looked down at you, curled up beside him. He was glad that you had been sleeping so easily lately. He could tell it was doing you good. You had put on a few pounds and your bones were no longer visible like they had been the first day. That was good. Even your skin seemed brighter. There was just a healthier glow about you and it made him happy.

Dean slid his hands around your waist. You in turn wrapped your arms around his neck pulling your body up until your head rested on his shoulder. Keeping one arm around your back and slipping the other behind your knees he lifted you from the couch effortlessly and carried you into the bedroom to set you on the bed. You mumbled something he couldn’t understand, but he didn’t ask you to repeat it. Instead he pulled the sheets back and tucked you beneath them.

    “Hmm, thanks Dean,” you smiled, eyes still closed.

    He slipped into the bed beside you and you turned over, curling against him.

    He wished that he knew your name so that he could whisper it in your ear and tell you goodnight. Instead he just pressed his lips to your forehead and turned out the light.


	5. Why Am I So Broken

Several days passed in the same fashion and you loved every second of it. You never knew that you could ever be so happy. You didn’t understand how Dean could spend so much time in the apartment though. You knew a little about his job and his life. There must have been a lot of things calling him away. And yet he stayed.

 

    Sam came over the next Thursday. You had known he was coming, but were still surprised. He didn’t knock before entering, just walked in with a smile of his face and a bag of chinese takeout in his hand. You sat up from the couch frightened. You had never liked surprises. But Sam didn’t know that and you knew he didn’t mean any harm. You quickly regained your composure and stood from your seat.

    “Hey Sammy.” Dean said, hearing the door and entering the living room from the kitchen. He clapped his brother on the shoulder and took the takeout from him and setting it on the coffee table. “I see you made it here in one piece.”

    “Yeah,” Sam replied, “Cas showed up at the last minute, just like I knew he would. Finished the job and then came straight here.”

    Sam turned to you and held out his hand. You took it nervously. Sam was Dean’s brother, but still, you had a hard time getting the fear out of your head. Especially with his intimidating size. Tall and broad shouldered, you felt sure that if threatened, he was probably very dangerous. But for now he just smiled down at you as he shook your hand.

    “It’s nice to meet you,” he said, “Dean told me about you on the phone.”

    Dean closed the front door and you stood there awkwardly, not knowing what you were supposed to do now. Sam gestured for you to enter the living room in front of him. You did and went to sit on the couch.

    The three of you sat around in the living room to eat dinner. After a bit of small talk, Dean asked Sam about the last job he did and you didn’t really understand everything they were talking about. The conversation eventually drifted to other topics.

For the rest of the evening you wondered if Dean had told Sam a bit about your past. He seemed to be putting extra effort into being placid and courteous, which seemed strange for a man of his strength and size. But then maybe he was always like that. There was no way to be sure at the moment.

 

When the food was gone and the conversation died down a bit, Sam noticed your books on the small table by the couch.

    “I remember these,” Sam said, taking them into his hands and riffling through the worn pages.

    “Dean gave them to me--I hope you don’t mind,” you said, remembering that they were actually Sam’s to begin with.

    “No not at all,” Sam laughed, “Actually I’m really good someone is getting some reading out of them. They’ve been sitting in the trunk of the impala for years.”

    You were relieved.

    “So what do you think of them?” Sam asked.

    “I just finished the first this morning and loved it. I started the second, but I’m not very far in.”

    Sam began to ask you questions, thrilled to discuss the novel. Dean hadn’t read it, but laughed at  the reenactments Sam did of his favorite parts. You did too.

Dean had been right. You liked Sam very much.

   

When the evening was over, Sam got his coat to leave, and Dean walked him to the door, stepping outside for a moment to talk in private.

“So when do you think you’ll be back on the hunt?” Sam asked, pulling the door shut behind him.

Dean exhaled in the cold night air. “Do you have a job lined up or something?”

“Not at the moment,” he replied, looking up at the navy sky, “Garth called me earlier today and said he might have something in Nashville. He didn’t give me specifics though and said he’d call back in the morning when he was sure. Whatever he’s got, its probably nothing, but I think I’m gonna go check it out anyway.”

Dean nodded, listening to his brother speak.

“I get it if you don’t want to come,” Sam continued, “Like I said, it’s probably nothing and I’ll call Cas if things get hairy.”

Sam turned to finally look at Dean, speaking before his brother had a chance.

“I understand what you meant when you told me about her earlier,” he said, nodding toward the house, “And I think you’re right. Your place is here. At least for now.”

Dean didn’t know what to say except agree with his brother. But Sam understood.

“I’ll call you in a few days. Let you know how it all goes down.”

“Thanks Sam,” Dean said, clapping his brother on the shoulder, “Don’t do anything stupid out there.”

Sam just laughed.

“You mean don't do anything you would do?”

Dean just scoffed and gave his brother a quick hug before Sam got in his car and drove away.

 

    When Dean came back into the house, you had already cleaned up most of the takeout boxes from dinner and put the living room back to normal.

    “Thanks,” Dean said, loosely taking hold of your fingers, after you tossed the last of the empty boxes in the garbage.

    “I like Sam a lot,” you said.

    “I’m glad,” Dean said, “I think he really liked you too.”

    “Really?” you asked, still hesitant of any positive complements.

    If Dean had heard that from anyone else he would have just thought that they were fishing for compliments. But somehow he knew that you were honestly looking for validation. Sometimes he forgot that you probably hadn’t ever had positive feedback before. He imagined Alastair didn’t hold back with his criticism.

    “Really,” Dean said simply, because he didn’t know what else he could say. It wasn’t the first time he was frustrated at himself. He just wanted to know the words to say to make you see yourself like he had come to see you. But the right ones never came.

  

You and Dean got ready for bed. After you changed into his shirt again, he came and put his arms around you, hugging you from behind. He kissed your cheek and rested his chin on your shoulder. All you could do was blush and put your hands over his, slightly leaning back into his chest, and changing your breathing to match his.

Suddenly Dean moved his hands, tickling your sides. You were caught off guard by his sneak attack and reflexively folded over, trying to pull away from him. You couldn't control your laughter, but he just pulled you to him tighter as you giggled. Dean began to laugh too, caught up in the moment and loving the sound of your contagious laughter. He pulled you up, tossing you on the bed and jumped on it after you. Your hair was disheveled, and you writhed on the covers, giggling. When you ran out of breath, he stopped and flopped down beside you. You were breathing fast, still smiling, and exhausted.

“I like to hear you laugh,” he said, turning to face you.

“I like that you make me laugh,” you said, looking back at him and pushing back your hair, “I thought I had forgotten how.”

Dean lay across from you, looking at you in silence for the longest time. Then his expression became more serious and slowly he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss on your lips. It wasn’t the first time Dean had kissed you, but it felt different this time. He was as loving and gentle as before, but this time you could taste a hint of desire on his lips. And it frightened you.

    Dean put his thumb on your chin, opening your lip slightly as he kissed you again. You didn’t respond at first, letting him kiss you, but gradually you began to move your lips against his. He began to kiss deeper and rolled over slightly so that he was on top of you, supporting his weight on his elbows. His lips slid lower, moving along your jawline, sucking and nipping gently at your soft skin.

Images flashed in your mind. Hot breath touched your neck. Dean’s hands tangled in your hair and you could hear his breath in your ears. His lips moved back to yours and his kisses became a little faster. And suddenly all you could think about was him.

Your master.

Alastair.

You were back with him.

Pain and fear in the overwhelming darkness.

“Dean!” you said, breaking away from him. Your eyes shot open and suddenly your hands were pushing at Dean’s shoulders, thrusting him off of you.

The expression in your eyes, the pure panic of being trapped beneath him, hit Dean like a ton of bricks.

Dean was off of you in a heartbeat. He felt sick. He had just done to you the same thing he was trying so hard to protect you from.

“I’m sorry,” he stammered, “Oh God, I’m sorry. That was so selfish of me.”

You could see how apologetic he felt.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated.

You settled back down on the pillow, turning your body away from Dean. You tried so hard to hold back the tears. For Dean's sake more than anything. It wasn't his fault that you were so broken. He hadn't done anything wrong either.

In Dean's mind he felt so guilty. He had to make this right, but everything he could think to say to you sounded shallow and selfish in his head. He looked at the back of your head wishing he could turn back time and start over.

“It’s not your fault, Dean,” you whispered, finally breaking the silence, “I’m just broken. Why am I so broken.”

Dean took a chance and reached out, placing a hand on your waist. You flinched out of reflex. Dean recoiled instantly. The last think he wanted to do was make the situation any worse. But then you turned toward him slightly and tugged his hand back, wrapping it around your waist again.

Dean didn’t dare move for fear he would do something wrong.

After a while you rolled back over toward him, resting your head on his chest. You raised your hand and pressed it against his shirt, spreading out your fingers and concentrating on the feel of his heartbeat. You remembered the rhythm it had made when Dean had pressed your hands to his chest, comforting you for the first time. It was the same rhythm it made now. He had kissed your scars then and made you realize that you were a human being just like him. He had brushed away your tears and softly pressed his lips to your cheek, melting away your insecurities. You concentrated on this. On everything Dean had done for you. And you kept replaying it in your mind until all the bad memories had been chased away.

 Dean liked the way you rested on his chest, he only wish it had come out of different circumstances. He slid his arms around you protectively. It occurred to him that in your whole life, there probably wasn’t a single person who had considered your feelings. Who made you feel good. He would change that. That was the farthest he could distance his own actions from those of Alastair. And if he could give you as little as possible to connect with your memories, perhaps you could finally be free of them.


	6. The Truth About Alastair

Then next morning you woke up slow and gradually. The blankets were so warm and comfortable. The morning sunlight was casting rays across the bed and gently soaking warmth into the blankets. Your face was turned to Dean’s. His eyes were closed and he looked so peaceful at that moment. His long lashes brushed his cheeks and stubble covered his chin. His hair stuck up at odd angles, creased in every direction by the pillow in the night. You wanted to run your fingers through it, but didn’t want to wake him. With every relaxed breath he inhaled his chest rose slowly, and then sank when he let it out again. His hand was sleepily draped over you, like he had once been holding you tight, but now his grip was completely relaxed.

    Thinking of last night, you remembered how Dean had held you. He always held you, but his time felt different. You had panicked and all he wanted to do was protect you. Even if that meant protecting you from your past and the memories that haunted you. You had found solace in memories of him. Solace that you had been searching for for a long time.

    As carefully as you could, you slid Dean’s hand off of you and slipped out from under the sheets. You walked to the bathroom and took a quick shower, towel dried your hair, and put Dean’s oversized shirt back on. After brushing your teeth you exited the bathroom and peaked in the bedroom to see that Dean was still asleep.

Walking on your tiptoes, you made your way into the kitchen. The sun was coming through the windows above the sink, and dust particles floated in the long rays that landed on the linoleum floor.

    You opened the fridge and pulled out ingredients for an omelet as well as a package of bacon and set them on the counter. After finding orange juice concentrate in the freezer you pulled that out to thaw and set to work making breakfast.

    It was hard to stay quiet as you shifted pans and dishes around. Soon you had the bacon sizzling in the pan and were grating cheese over a fried omelet. You mixed the orange juice and set out plates on the table. When everything was ready, you went back into the bedroom to wake Dean.

    He hadn’t moved since you left him. A smile broke across your face as you sat on the bed next to him.

    “Dean?” you whispered, “Dean, I made breakfast.”

    Dean slowly opened his eyes and looked up at you.

    “Hmm, good morning,” he mumbled, his voice a little rough from sleep. He swallowed and rubbed his eyes before smiling at you. You tugged at his hand and he got out of bed and went into the bathroom.

    You returned to the kitchen and poured the orange juice and set out silverware, trying not to laugh at yourself for how hard you were trying. Dean entered the kitchen moments later and glanced at the bacon that was still sizzling slightly on the stove.

    “Thanks,” Dean said, “It smells amazing.”

    You turned at his voice. He kissed you on the cheek before sitting down at the table. You brought the food over to the table, your bare feet padding softly on the tile, and Dean helped himself to one of the omelets and some bacon. You sat down opposite him at the small table, picked up your fork, and then watched him take a bite. He grinned as he tasted the bacon, remembering how he had given you all of his that first morning.

    You began to eat your food, thinking the whole time about how much you liked this kind of validation. It was nice to do something good and have it appreciated. You hadn’t really ever had that before. As a slave you weren’t happy with what you were forced to do, so even on those occasions Alastair had been pleased with you, you secretly hated yourself for it. This was different.

This was pure and innocent happiness.

     

You finished the second book later that day and Dean wished he had more to give you. He could see how much you liked them and made a mental note to pick up a few more next time he made a beer run.

Dean got a phone call in the late afternoon and when he reduced his voice to hushed tones, you knew it had something to do with you. It didn’t bother you though. It wasn’t like there was anything Dean could say that you didn’t already know. He probably just spoke quietly to avoid making you uncomfortable. And you were actually glad he did. You had reached a point where you knew that he always had your best interests in mind and you didn’t ever doubt his intentions. It was a level of trust you had never experienced before.

It wasn’t until later that evening that Dean told you what the phone call was about. You were in the kitchen washing up the last of the dishes from dinner when Dean spoke from the doorway.

“There’s something I have to tell you,” Dean said solemnly, “And maybe I should have told you a long time ago… but I didn’t want to scare you.”

    Dean hesitated, like he was still questioning whether or not he should tell you. You turned around, sudsy pan in hand and question in your brow. Then, with a deep breath, he said it.

    “Alastair is alive.”

    When you heard his words, it was like you forgot how to breathe. You dropped the pan and it clattered to the floor, making water droplets splash across the linoleum and dot the cupboards. He flinched at the clatter it made. Then seeing your shocked expression, he felt the need to explain. He spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully.

    “The truth is I didn’t kill him that day. The day that I found you. I went to stab him, but he left the body he had been possessing before I could thrust my knife. That’s why I’ve been doing all this research. I have been looking for him ever since.”

    You finally took a breath, but your knees were weak and you leaned against the counter before sliding down to sit on the floor. Dean came to sit beside you, not caring that the floor was a little wet and soaked into his pants. You were still in denial, like it hadn’t quite hit you yet that your master --former master that is, was not only still alive, but he could be looking for you. You ran your fingers through your hair anxiously, waiting for him to continue.

“I’ve been researching your family too, but all I seem to find are dead-ends and I don’t have much to go off of. But another hunter got a lead on Alastair. Word is that he's hiding out in an empty ocean liner on the coast. I think I should go take care of it. You know, before anything bad happens.”

You brought your knees up to your chest and wrapped your arms around your legs. It was sinking in and now that the initial shock was gone, you were beginning to realize how bad of a situation this could be.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, “Maybe I should have told you before, but I just didn’t want to worry you.”

He gently put his hand on your knee.

“I’m glad you didn’t tell me,” you said, looking sideways at him, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m terrified right now. But if I had been worrying about Alastair for these past weeks, I never would have opened up to you. I would probably be the same scared girl you rescued in that shed.”

You put your hand on top of his and continued.

“I know you were just doing it to protect me. So thank you.”

Dean moved his other arm around you and you scooted closer and leaned your head on his shoulder. He pressed his lips to the top of your head for a long moment before pulling you even closer.

The two of you stayed like this for a long time. Being close to Dean made you feel safe.

“So what do we do now?” you asked.

    “Hang on a minute,” Dean said, “We are not going to do anything. I am going to follow this lead. I’ll call Sam. He can stay here until I get back, make sure nothing happens to you.”

    “Dean,” you remarked quietly, not wanting this to turn into any sort of conflict, “I want to come with you.”

    “You’re not a hunter,” Dean said, his voice rising slightly.

    “I could help. You could teach me how to use the guns. You need somebody to cover y--”

    “I might as well take Sam with me then because he has experience.”

“Okay, what if I just--”

“There is no ‘what if’ here,”

“But Dean--”

“You’re not coming!” Dean insisted.

You flinched at his harsh words.

Dean instantly knew he’d made a mistake in raising his voice. It was what he was used to though, with Sam being so stubborn and hot-headed. Sometimes it was the only way to get his point across. But with you it was different and Dean should have remembered that.

You turned your head away from him. You hated conflict. It never ended well.

Dean saw the resignation and hurt in your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to get upset at you. I don’t think that you are incapable, and I would like to have you there with me… but if anything happened to you, ...if you got hurt and it was my fault, ...I would never be able to forgive myself.”

 

You and Dean didn’t discuss the issue further. Instead the two of you climbed up off the floor and you finished the dishes while Dean went into the other room to put some things together for the road. You were silent but your mind was buzzing.

 

When it was time for bed Dean brushed his teeth in the bathroom while you changed in the bedroom. You hoped that the lasting awkwardness from previous disagreement wouldn’t carry on. He wasn’t used to dealing with a broken women with an inferiority complex and fragile emotions. You understood that. And you didn’t hold it against him. But you weren’t sure how to go about telling him that. Besides, you needed Dean like you had never needed anyone before.

When you finished dressing, you suddenly felt his arms wrap around you. You turned around to look up at Dean. He looked like he was going to say something, but you spoke first.

“Dean, I wanted to let you know that I know you’re not used to having to deal with a girl like me. I’m jumpy and scared and possibly emotionally unstable,” you admitted, somewhat jokingly,” But I’m getting better, and it’s because of you. I don’t expect everything to be perfect, but I want to thank you for being so patient with me.”

He sat on the mattress, he pulled you into his lap, leaned his forehead against yours.

“Still, I am sorry about earlier,” he said softly, “I shouldn’t have raised my voice at you. I’ll never let myself do it again... You deserve better than that.”

You deserved better than that? That was what he had said. Right at that moment you completely forgave him and knew you could never let him go. He thought you were worth something, like no one else in your whole life ever had. He said you deserved better. You hadn’t felt like you deserved anything before. You felt of value around him. Like you were something special. And maybe you were.

With a sudden rush of bravery you leaned your chin forward and touched your lips to his.

Dean was pleasantly surprised by your gesture. He smiled into your lips and began to return your motions. You closed your eyes and felt him. He didn’t take control this time. Didn’t dominate the kiss. He simply imitated your own movements, slow and soft.

When you pulled away, you blushed at your own forwardness. Dean just smiled at your embarrassment and gave you a quick kiss on the cheek.


	7. Stowaway

Dean awoke very early. The sun wasn’t close to up yet. He tried to be quiet as he got out of bed, but the change of the weight on the mattress woke you. You watched him get up and get dressed and gave out a sleepy moan of disapproval at his leaving.

“Go back to sleep,” he said and kissed your head, “I’ll be back in a day or two. Maybe we'll have to do something special to celebrate when this is all over.”

You closed your eyes again but didn’t go back to sleep. Dean was leaving you. You would be all alone. Who knew what might happen or who might come after you while he was gone. You didn’t want to sleep alone. Or wander through his empty house and not hearing him in the other room. You knew that the words you and he had exchanged earlier that evening had set everything right between the two of you. Still, you didn’t agree with him. You had more cause for a vendetta against Alastair than Dean had. Why wouldn’t he let you go with him. You could think of several reasons why, but in your mind none of them were good enough.

Dean left and went into the bathroom. You knew you were making a mistake, but you couldn’t bear the thought of laying in that bed without him. And so you silently crept out of bed and quickly dressed. After stuffing the extra blanket in the bed to look somewhat like your sleeping form, you hurriedly slipped through the hallway and out the front door before Dean came out of the bathroom. As quietly as possible, you walked down the front walk to the impala, opened the back door and climbed in behind the drivers seat. You held your knees to your chest as you leaned against the door and waited, praying that Dean wouldn’t see you when he walked to the impala.

 

Dean came out of the bathroom and grabbed his duffel which he had packed the night before. He hated to leave you, but he didn’t really have any other choice. He looked into the bedroom where you were sleeping, but he didn’t approach. He had already said goodbye and there was no use in waking you again.

Dean sighed and slung his duffle on his shoulder before retreating through the house and exiting through the front door.

The night air was chilly and there was no sign of the moon anywhere. Dean tossed his duffle in the trunk and got in the impala. He started the engine, flinching as the headlights reflected brightly off of the wall in front of it. He smoothly backed the car out of the driveway and onto the road.

After several turns through residential area you could feel that the impala was on the highway now. Dean hadn’t even glanced in the back. And you hoped you could remain silent as long as possible. At least long enough that it would be too late for him to take you back.

After a while, he switched on the music and began softly singing along with some old classic rock. He kept it quiet though. In Dean’s mind, there was something about the very early morning always seemed like it deserved that respect.

You leaned your head on the back seat and closed your eyes. Dean’s voice was deep and he carried a tune surprisingly well. You secretly wished you could sing along, even though you didn’t know the words.

You had been hiding in the back of the car for a long while before you realized that eventually Dean was going to find you. You were going to have to talk to him and admit that this might have been a stupid idea. Sooner or later he would find out that you had directly disobeyed him. The guilt and fear were beginning to build, and though you knew Dean wouldn’t ever hurt you, it was difficult to disregard the habits that you had learned from your previous life.

Just as the sun began to peak over the distant mountains, your troubled mind drifted off to sleep.

 

The next thing you knew, the side door you were sleeping against was opened and you almost fell backwards out of the car. You startled awake, righting yourself, and spun around to see Dean holding the door open and looking at you.

You didn’t know what to say. He had caught you, not that you had really expected anything to go differently. Out the open door you could see that the impala was parked on the side of the highway and there was nothing in sight. You hadn’t arrived, Dean had most likely stopped just for you.

“How did you know I was back there?” you asked, looking completely guilty.

Dean raised his head and looked over the car at the landscape.

    “You talk in your sleep,” he answered plainly, “Now come on. It will be a lot more comfortable for you in the front seat.”

    You crawled out of the back seat, not even noticing that your legs were numb. You held your arms around yourself against the early morning air and walked around the car to crawl into the front seat. Dean shut the back door and got in the drivers seat again.

“You don’t look mad,” you said, glancing over at him as he started the car again, “Aren’t you angry with me?”

Dean checked his blind spot and pulled back onto the highway before answering.

“Maybe I should be,” he said, “I promised I’d never raise my voice to you again. And I meant it. But don’t think I could be mad at you right now anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

Dean hesitated.

“When you were talking in your sleep… I heard you,” he explained.

“What did I say,” you questioned when he didn’t immediately tell you. You hoped it wasn’t anything too personal.

“You were begging for someone ...not to hurt you,” Dean answered slowly. You bit your lip, embarrassed, but he wasn’t finished.

“And then you called out my name. Like you needed my help and I didn’t come.”

You could see the heartbreak in his eyes as he told you this.

“Are these the kind of things that you think about at night? Is that your nightmare?”

You nodded, eyes cast down in embarrassment, and replied, “Sometimes. But sometimes you do come. And sometimes you stop him.”

“Is that why you stowed away? Because you were scared to be alone?”

You nodded again.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said.

“For what?” you asked, confused. Dean hadn’t done anything wrong. You were the one who hadn’t listened to him. You should be the one apologizing.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t want you to come with me for my own selfish reasons. I didn’t want to teach you things or have that burden of guilt if something happened to you. I didn’t want to be responsible for you. I never once thought about your feelings. Well I guess I did, but brushed them aside and assumed that you wouldn’t want to go into a dangerous situation. But now I realize that if that is the kind of thing that haunts you, you probably want Alastair dead a lot more than I do.”

You pursed your lips and stared out the front window at the dotted yellow line that zipped past beneath the car.

“I just want to make sure that he’s really gone this time,” you said, “And maybe seeing it with my own eyes might make the nightmares stop.”

Dean nodded like he completely understood.

“That’s why I’m going to take you with me. And this will be over once and for all.”

  
Then the gas tank was reading low, Dean pulled into a gas station. After turning off the car he reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a sharpie.

“Here, before I forget, let me see your wrist,” he said and you held out your arm.

“What are you doing?” you asked as he uncapped the marker.

“Well you don’t have time for a tattoo, so this will have to do for now.”

“A tattoo?”

You furrowed your brow having no idea what he was talking about. Dean pulled the collar of his shirt down to reveal a tattoo on his chest. It was a strange symbol and you hadn’t seen anything like it before. There was a star inked in the middle of sunlike flares.

“Anti possession,” Dean said, “This makes it so the demons can’t control you.”

That explained why you hadn’t seen it before. There wouldn’t be anything like that anywhere hear Alastair. You suddenly became overwhelmed. Demons hadn’t only been doing things to you for years, they often possessed you as well and made you do things you couldn’t control. Sick, perverted things and you couldn’t do anything but watch, caged deep inside your own head. If only you had known about this symbol years ago you would have carved it into your own flesh just to keep the demons out.

“You okay?” Dean asked when your eyes got distant.

“Yeah,” you replied and cleared your throat.

Dean pressed the tip of the marker to your skin and began to draw. He had obviously done this before because his movements were quick and precise. When he finished he capped the marker again and tossed it back in the glove compartment.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” he said glancing out the windshield at the gas station. “We need gas and food. After we stock up, we're going to take a few hours and get you up to speed on demon hunting. I hope you’re a quick learner.”

 

You followed Dean into the gas station. You weren’t sure what he was looking for and just sort of tagged along as he pulled things off of the shelves. When his arms were full, he carried it to the front and set it on the counter to pay for it. Then he stepped back and looked at a display of pastries and pies next to the counter.

“Could we get two of those as well?” he asked, pointing to a slice of apple pie.

The guy behind the counter looked like he hadn’t gotten enough sleep and forced a smile as he put the pie in a little box and rang up all of the other items.

After Dean paid, you pulled some of the bags off of the counter and let Dean get the others.

“Thanks,” you told the man behind the counter. You figured he could use it. Dean nodded at him as well and you took the bags out to the car.

 

Dean drove the impala out of town and pulled onto a dirt road out of view of passing traffic. You both got out and he popped the trunk. You brought out the pie and two plastic forks and the two of you sat on the edge of the trunk to eat your breakfast. You hadn’t ever had pie before, and guessing by Dean’s expression, he had assumed as much. He had bought it just so he could watch your face as you took the first bite. When your eyes lit up as your tongue experienced the flavors and textures, he couldn’t help but break out in a grin.

After breakfast, Dean opened the weapons case in the trunk and propped it open at the side with a sawed off shotgun. You were a little overwhelmed by the amount of guns, knives, stakes, and other even more creative weapons were tossed and strapped in the back of his car. It wasn’t organized by any means, but you figured Dean knew every nick and scrape on every weapon by heart. They looked old and used, some cracking in the handles or tarnishing at the joints, but they were all kept very clean.

Dean pulled out a few and began explaining how to use them, making you practice holding and swinging them, and described the best way to use them on demons. He pointed out his favorite weapons, twirling them in his hands. He seemed completely at ease holding things that could kill. Maybe that should have frightened you, but in reality, it only made you feel more secure.

“This one is possibly the most important. This is a demon blade. Its the only thing that actually kills the demon. With other weapons you just destroy the body they are possessing and they can still escape.”

You nodded, listening carefully. You had seen demons enter and exit bodies as the black smoke. You had even seen it in yourself before. You shuddered at the memories.

“Remember, all of this practice is only for emergencies. For the most part just stay behind me,” Dean said, looking at you with an expression that told you that you should actually listen this time.

After attentive practice with each weapon, and when you felt as confident as you possible after a crash course, the two of you replaced the weapons in the trunk and got back into the front seats. Dean turned the key and turned the tires onto the asphalt road again. Neither you or Dean spoke as the impala sped down the highway toward the coast, and toward the demon who had taken everything from you.

 Today was the day you would end your nightmares.

 


	8. Ending the Nightmare

You weren’t sure who Dean’s informant was, a hunter friend who had caught wind of serious demon activity probably. Dean never told you. But when he pulled the impala up to the docks, you trusted his judgement. Alastair was here.

    The sight was a bit overwhelming. The harbor was full of huge cargo ships, anchored in the dark water. Each was piled with hundreds of large metal containers of various colors, but all rusting from the spray of the sea water, leaving everything tinged with red-ish brown.

    The nearest ship looked older than the rest, and was close to the shore. You assumed it had been a while since it had actually been to sea. From the outside it looked like any other old cargo ship, but you figured that the inside looked more like where demons would hide.

    Following Dean’s lead, you exited the impala, retrieved the weapons from the trunk and started down the mess of docks toward the water.

    The docks in this area matched the ship. Older and run down. The wood was rotting in several places and you could see the water moving beneath them. You were careful to watch out for the decaying sections, opening your eyes wider in the waning daylight. You hoped you could find where you were going before it got too dark. Dean kept glancing back at you. You were shaking slightly in anticipation, but you tried hard not to let it show.

    When the two of you reached the ship, Dean lead the way up the long gangplank onto the deck of the ship. You moved quickly and silently, following Dean’s hand signals. When two demons walked across the opposite side of the deck, Dean pulled you beside him out of view. He watched their movements for several moments before speaking.

    “Wait here,” he said.   
    You listened. This was too big for you to mess up.

    Dean left your hiding place and you kept your head down. It wasn’t long before you heard a muffled groan and a body fall to the deck. The second body dropped shortly after.

    Dean was soon beside you again, tugging your hand and leading you to a hatch in the deck. He went first, crawling down the ladder and scoping out the area below before motioning for you to follow.

    The ladder lead to a large enclosed sub-deck, which was probably once used for storing supplies or cargo on the ship, but which was now empty. Dean motioned for you to stay close behind him and half-jogged to the opposite side of the floor to a large metal door. It was open slightly and he nudged it the rest of the way, cringing when the hinges creaked. You were right behind him the whole way.

    This room was smaller and had a few tables, papers, and tools were scattered about. A fire extinguisher leaned against a wall. It was dark, lit by only a few bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling.

At the opposite side of the room stood three men, none of them facing your direction. Dean froze, and prepared himself for the worst.

“I was wondering when you’d turn up again,” A cold voice said.

The metal door behind you slammed closed and the wheel in the center turned, shutting it tight.

    The three figures across the room turned around. You had never seen any of them before, but there was no dismissing the cold, vile stare of the middle man. He had acquired a new vessel since you had last seen him, but Alastair’s harsh glare was as distinct as ever.

    “Bring them to me,” he said simply to the two demons at his side, “And don’t bother taking too much care of the grunt. He’s nothing worth saving.”

    Dean put out his arm reflexively in front of you, his other hand holding the demon blade out in front of himself.

    The demons pulled out knives of their own and charged, attacking while Alastair watched from afar. You didn’t know why he didn’t get in on the fighting. You knew from experience he certainly didn’t mind getting his hands dirty. You stayed out of the way, but still braced yourself, as Dean met them in the fight. Their efforts were almost pathetic and no match for Dean’s skill. He quickly stabbed the first in the chest with his blade. A fragment of light seemed to flicker inside the demon as he died, but it vanished quickly, and a dead-eyed corpse fell to the ground. The second demon hesitated, now knowing that Dean could actually kill him, not just his vessel. Quickly made a few jabs at Dean, which were easily deflected, and only resulted in the demon letting his guard down, allowing an opening for Dean to thrust his own knife into its stomach. The demon collapsed and Dean heaved the body to the ground before turning to Alastair.

    “No one left to do your dirty work, Alastair” Dean said gruffly, glaring at the man across the room. You followed Dean, the two of you cautiously approaching the only remaining demon. Alistair never changed his expression the closer you got, and neither of you were expecting what came next.

    With little effort, Alastair whipped his hand through the air sending Dean crashing into a table of tools and equipment, sending the demon blade sliding across the floor. You tried to take that moment of distraction to take a stab at him, but your former master was expecting it and simply waved his other hand, sending you crashing into one of the iron pillars supporting the upper deck. You heard a muffled crack as your ribs collided with the cold metal. The breath was knocked out of you and you crumpled to the floor.

Dean was up again in no time, but was no match for an enemy he couldn't get close to, and Alistair thrust him against the wall once again. You could only bite back a scream of pain and barely managed to lift yourself up onto your elbows before collapsing again on the dirty floor.

    The demon seemed to be enjoying himself. He casually held Dean, though never touching him directly, against the wall. Dean gasped for air and tried to kick against the unknown force that held him, but to no avail. He was completely helpless when Alastair moved toward him with a small blade. He raised it to Dean’s neck, nicking the skin with the tip. His mouth turned up in a crooked smile when Dean gave out a small grunt of pain. A few drops of blood dripped down the knife. Without a warning, the demon brought the knife down in a swift movement, slicing the length of Dean’s forearm. The pleasure was plainly visible in the demons expression as he heard his helpless victim try to grit his teeth against his scream.

    You knew what Alastair’s blade felt like and every cut in Dean’s flesh felt like a slice in your own. Alastair brought the knife down again. More blood spilled out of Dean.

    You couldn’t lay there anymore and do nothing. Gritting your teeth you clutched the metal support and moved yourself into a standing position, gasping for breath and clutching your broken ribs. You tried to breath deeply, but almost blacked out from the pain, and instantly returned to shallow, almost hyperventilating breaths. Alastair turned his attention toward you, laughing out loud at your pathetic attempt to stand.

    “Look at you,” he said, spitting, “You think just because you escaped me that it changes anything?”

    You moved to hold the wall, trying to look brave, but with every breath, the agony showed in your expression and you knew he saw right through your attempted facade. Your brow was glistening with sweat and your hands shook.

“You are even more pathetic than the last time I saw you. At least then you knew what you were. Now you have a pitiful false hope in your eye. What? Did you forget that you are inferior in every way? Let me guess. This scum told you he cares about you. Oh you are so naive. I honestly feel sorry for you.”

None of it was true. Alastair was lying. Manipulating you. You knew this, and yet somehow his harsh words were breaking through your defenses.

You were still afraid of this man.

“Do you really think this man could ever care about a girl with a face like yours? Have you even seen yourself?”

Dean tried to speak, to contradict Alastair’s words, but he couldn’t, and you didn’t notice his attempts.

Maybe what he said was true. Maybe Dean had only told you those things because he pitied you.

“I see you have made a sad attempt to hide your brand. Just because you covered it up doesn't mean it will hide what you truly are?”

You clenched your fist around the clean bandage and turned your palm toward your body. He was right. You would always have that mark forever burned into your flesh. You couldn’t undo it. Just like the scar on your face and the stripes on your back they would cover you as long as you lived.

“You are mine,” Alastair continued, “And when I’ve finished with this bastard, I will reclaim you.”

His words stung, even though you had been shown a different life and didn’t think like that anymore.

“Next time you will never escape me,” he shouted. He didn’t break eye contact while he thrust the blade into Dean’s stomach, sinking the thin metal into his flesh all the way to the hilt before yanking it out again.

“Dean!” you screamed, but it was already done. Alastair stared at the blood as it poured from Dean's stomach and he collapsed to the deck, the demons power no longer supporting him.

Dean was dying on the floor at the hands of your former master. You would rather die with him than go with Alastair again.

Thoughts of this demon were what had kept you awake at night. They were what came to your mind when you heard a strange sound or saw movement out of the corner of your eye. They were the things that hid in the dark. He was your nightmare.

And it was time for you to wake up.

Alastair wiped the bloodied knife on Dean’s own jacket, smirking at the frailty of a human’s fleeting existence.

You took this moment of distraction and pulled a crowbar from a pile of tools on the floor. The demon heard the scrape of metal on metal and turned just in time to see you swing the iron bar at his head. Your hatred for this man fed your movements and you forgot about the your pain. The cold metal connected with his head and you heard a crack. But although you had given the swing all your strength, it didn’t do any damage to the demon inside the body. He wrenched the crowbar from your hands, tossing it out of reach. He paused for a moment to assess the damages to his own skull and then slowly turned to you. You searched for another weapon, your eyes flitting to the demon knife that lay on the floor several yards away. You took a step toward it, but Alastair easily shoved you to the ground, slamming your ribcage on the deck. All the pain came flooding back. Blacks and reds clouded your vision, but you fought to keep your eyes open. You _had_ to stay conscious.  

“You think you can kill me?” the demon hissed, obviously shocked by your aggressive actions. But then he shouldn't have been surprised. You had always been a fighter.

“I would have thought that you had learned by now. Wasn’t that mark on your face, or the stripes on your back lesson enough?”

You could barely focus on what he was saying.

“Apparently not,” he breathed, “Maybe you need a few more scars.”

With a twist of his hand, your leg was pulled at an awkward angle and you heard a sickening crack that echoed through the hollow room. You screamed and tried not to look at the way it lay beneath you now at an unnatural angle.

But that wasn’t good enough for him. He needed to see your blood. And so he thrust his blade into your side, avoiding any vital organs, but easily slicing your flesh and muscle.

The crimson blood felt warm as it soaked into your shirt and all you could do was stare in shock at the knife protruding from your flesh, the other end still grasped in Alastair’s filthy hands.

Your eyes grew wide and you forgot how to breath. But there was something about this pain that was familiar. You had felt cold metal in your side before. And suddenly memories came flooding back, clouding your mind like droplets of dye in water.

_You were three years old. There was a pain in your side. It stung and there was even a little bit of blood. Tears ran down your chubby cheeks as you looked up at a woman who was smiling down at you kindly._

_“It’s not so bad,” she said is a sweet tone, “Here well just wipe some of the blood off and then you can pick out a band aid. It will stop hurting in a little while. You’ve got to start being more careful and stop playing around that barbed wire fence though.”_

The woman was suddenly gone and flashes of other memories entered your mind.

_There was a cake with candles on it and people were singing to you. You were wearing a silly hat and one of the grownups was trying to put one on the dog._

_It was night time and your father and mother sat on either side of you, reading to you from a picture book._

_There was snow outside and you were licking an ice sickle that had fallen off of the rain gutter._

_You were playing in front of a comforting fire in the hearth when a stranger came into the house. A man with black eyes who followed your parents into the kitchen. You heard screams and couldn’t see your parents anymore. You called out to them, but they didn’t answer, and only the black eyed man entered the living room grabbing your little body and carrying you out the front door. You kicked and cried, but your tiny, weak body was no match for his firm grip._

Suddenly you knew. Your parents hadn’t made a deal. Hadn’t sold you to Alastair. They had loved you. And he had his demons kill them and taken you with him by force. You were so young then and easily influenced. As you grew, he perverted your mind and your memories, telling you that you were worthless and unloved by anyone in the world. He had lied to you. But now you remembered it all.

Then suddenly, like a whispered afterthought, you remembered your own name.

You gasped and returned to the moment, saying your name aloud. Alastair had pulled the knife back out of your flesh. You hissed in pain, tears streaming down your face.

“What?” he questioned in a mocking tone.

You swallowed and said it again, a little louder this time.

“That’s my name,” you said, “You lied to me. About everything.”

You tried to back yourself away from him, supporting your weight on your shaking arms. He laughed at your pathetic attempt and watched your arms tremble as you inched backwards.

“So what,” he said shrugging, “You didn’t need a name to be my slave.”

You glared up at him. Your tears were hot and stung as they spilled over onto your cheeks.

“Don’t worry,” he breathed, changing the subject and crouching beside you, “I’m not going to kill you. No. That’s too good for you. You will return with me and things will be just as they were. With perhaps a bit more pain.”

He smiled at the last remark, finding pleasure in his thoughts of making you scream.  

“And perhaps with your new memories you can suffer a bit of that on your own.”

    You slowly reached behind you, fingers grasping at the object that you had been moving toward all along. You heard his words and didn’t break eye contact, trying to keep the expression in your eyes constant. But in an instant you couldn’t hold it in any more and anger overtook you. Your hand wrapped around the handle of the demon blade that lay discarded on the floor.

    Alastair noticed the hate in your eyes, but not soon enough to react and you brought your hand from behind you, thrusting the demon blade into his chest.

    He looked down shocked. He had never seen it coming. He had thought that you would be defenseless and easy to overtake. But even in your short time with him, Dean had taught you more than that.

    It was as if there was a light inside of him that exploded when you pierced him with the demon blade. His eyes got wide and his mouth hung open. The light shone through his skin slightly, as if lightning was striking his heart, making his neck and collarbones easy to see as shadows under the thin flesh. No black smoke escaped from his mouth and when the light faded, you knew that he was dead this time.

    His body fell forward slightly and you used your leg to nudge him onto the floor and away from you. He was powerless and it was over. Alastair was gone forever.


	9. Accepting the End

Suddenly your rage was gone and you remembered the other fallen man on the other side of the room.

    “Dean!” you shouted, releasing the knife and using both hands to pull yourself across the dirty floor toward his fallen body. You were weak and it took so much effort to drag yourself to his side, a smear of blood trailing behind you on the cold floor.

    “Dean, I’m here,” you said when you reached him. You saw blood in his mouth and he was shaking. Your tears dripped onto his shirt as you frantically looked over his wounds. But you could tell that there wasn’t anything you could to help him, and you doubted if even the most capable surgeon could save him now. His eyes were glassy and he stared up at the ceiling, breaths shallow and quick. Though you knew it was too late to save his life, you tried not to show it for Dean’s sake.

    “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay,” you assured him.

You felt guilty at the lie.

Reaching into Dean’s jacket pocket, you pulled out his phone and called Sam.

It rang. Why didn’t he pick up? Dean tried to speak, your eyes got wide for a moment and you stopped paying attention to the phone.

“What? What, Dean… I’m right here.”

But his mouth didn’t seem to be able to form actual words and only a groan came out. You tried to keep your face calm and ran your fingers through his hair.

His eyes drooped and closed, probably forever.

“No! Dean, stay with me. Come on!”

You knew that it was no good. Dean was slipping away and there was nothing you could do to keep him with you. You held his face, repeatedly brushing his hair back, wishing that there was something you could do. But Dean’s head slowly fell to the side. His body was relaxing from it’s trembling, slowly shutting down. Though he wasn’t gone yet, he would be soon. A trickle of blood dripped from his lips to the ground and your tears fell harder than ever.

Suddenly Sam was on the other end of the phone.

“Sam!” you shouted, not even waiting for him to finish ‘hello’. Your voice broke as you frantically spoke to him, your fingers never leaving Dean’s face.

“Dean’s hurt. He’s really bad. I’m here and were alone. My leg is broken and I can't get to the impala, I just don’t know--”

“Where exactly are you?” Sam asked.

You gave him quick and exact directions as you wiped your eyes, keeping your breaths shallow so as to avoid causing any more pain to your ribs. Sam didn’t even wait for anything else before he said “I’m on my way” and hung up the phone.

    In your weakened state, your own body could no longer hold itself up and you collapsed next to Dean. Sobs heaved from your chest and as the adrenaline from the earlier conflict wore off, and the pain worsened. You didn’t even know exactly where the pain was coming from anymore. It just seemed to hurt everywhere.

    You didn’t know why Sam was even going to try to get to you in time. You were half a state away from him and Dean would be gone, and you as well, before he ever reached the two of you. You tried to stay calm as you looked down at yourself. Blood had pooled beneath you and mixed with the blood that was already on the floor from Dean. He would bleed out soon, and you wouldn’t be far behind him. You had never seen so much red. It made you feel sick and you thought you might retch.

    You let your head rest on the floor again, pushing past the dizziness that threatened to take over and tried to ignore the grotesque angle at which your leg lay on the floor. You looked at Dean. His chest still rose, breaths shallow, but you could tell that he was still holding on to life, even if it wouldn’t last long.

    Maybe he could still hear you, even if he couldn’t respond.

    “Dean,” you said, your voice quiet and strained, “I never told you… because I was afraid. I never told you thank you. Thank you for saving me. Thank you for staying with me and not giving up on me, even though I was just a damaged, broken girl. Thank you for fixing me. For taking all of the pieces of my shattered soul and putting them back together.”

    Dean’s expression never changed and you doubted that he could still hear you. But that didn’t stop you from bearing your soul.

    “I was afraid of becoming dependent on you. I didn’t want to open up to you in case something happened. That was the way I used to protect myself from pain. Living within myself, never letting emotion through. It doesn't hurt as bad if you just stop feeling all together. But I don’t care about that anymore. I know now that you would never cause me that kind of pain.”

    You gently brushed your thumb on Dean’s pallid cheek.

    “I never told you because I was afraid. But I’m not afraid anymore,” you whispered, and stretching out your neck, you placed a kiss on his cheek.

“With you I’m not afraid to feel any more. And I’m not afraid to tell you… Dean Winchester, that I love you.”

You kissed him again, secretly hoping that he would wake up and say it back to you, but his eyes remained closed and his breaths only became more shallow.

    Dean had rescued you. In more ways than one. If it hadn’t been for him, you would have still been a slave. You would have still been a scared, powerless girl chained in a shed, alone and without hope. Dean had taken you from that life. He had respected and valued you. And most importantly he taught you to respect and value yourself. He had saved you in every way imaginable, and at this moment you couldn’t do a thing for him. You lay there on the floor beside him while Dean's life and all your hope slowly slipped away. And then the cold hard fact hit you like a train. No one was coming for you. No one could save you. You and Dean would both die here, your broken bodies ungracefully sprawled on the hard floor, laying in a pool of your own blood.

    You reached out your hand and took Dean’s, interlacing your fingers and, gently squeezing his hand, you accepted the end.


	10. Not Afraid of the Dark

 

There were voices. Muffled at first and you opened your eyes slightly. The shapes were dark but there was no doubt in your mind who the taller one was.

    Sam pulled his brother’s body into his arms, tugging Dean’s hand away from yours.   

    “Dean, can you hear me?”

When he didn’t respond, Sam looked up at another man who stood beside him. He was dark haired and wore a blue tie with a suit that was covered by a trenchcoat. At Sam’s glance, he nodded slightly and then leaned down to press two fingers to Dean’s forehead. You didn’t quite understand what was going on and you were so weak that you figured it wouldn’t register, even if they told you. But then something happened that you couldn't mistake. Dean’s eyes shot open, and the blood that covered his body was gone.

    You must have been hallucinating from the loss of blood.

Dean gasped and sat up from his position in his brother’s arms. He put his hand to the ground quickly to steady himself and looked up at the other men.

    “Sam? Cas. How did you guys find me?”

Sam just nodded toward your fallen body.

“We got a phone call.”

    The man in the trenchcoat was already moving toward you and stretching out his hand.

“What are you doing?” you questioned with wide eyes, but your speech was slurred. Dean was quickly at your side holding your hand and you didn’t understand why he wasn’t still laying lifeless beside you.

“Hey, I’m right here,” he soothed, “Remember I told you I had an angel friend? This is Castiel. He’s going to fix you.”

You trusted Dean and moved your eyes toward the dark haired man, and managed a nod. He reached out his hand and pressed his index and middle finger to your head.

You thought it would feel different, maybe even painful, but it didn’t. Everything just went away. Even your leg twitched as the bone set itself and was instantly healed. Your strength come back almost instantly and gasped. Now you knew what Dean had just felt.

Dean looked down at you with the most pure expression of love that you had ever seen. He pulled you into a sitting position and wrapped you in his arms like he would never let you go.

 

Sam and Cas surveyed the room and pieced together what had happened, giving you and Dean a moment alone.

When he was finally able to release his hold on you, Dean pulled back to speak.

“Thanks for calling Sam,” he said, stroking your cheek.

“How did he get here so fast?”

“That’s Cas,” Dean answered, “He can sort of fly. Well, it just looks like he appears and disappears sometimes. I knew he’d come eventually. I tried to tell you,” he said, “but I couldn’t really get it out.”

“So were you conscious the whole time I was talking?” you asked, feeling a little embarrassed.

“Only if you want me to have been,” he answered, chuckling.

You had thought it was the end, and that you and Dean would both be dead. You didn’t know how you felt about Dean knowing all of it now. You didn’t say anything, trying to decide if you were brave enough to tell him that you wanted him to admit he had heard every word. But that didn’t seem to matter to Dean.

“I love you too,” he said recalling your own words.

He dipped his chin and pressed his lips to yours, closing his eyes. You kissed him back, feeling grateful and a little overwhelmed at the fact that the blood had returned to his face and his skin was as warm and full of life as ever.

The kiss was long and when it was over, you wrapped your arms around Dean’s neck and pulled him into another hug.

"I love you he repeated," and then as an afterthought he leaned closer and whispered your name in your ear.

You didn’t realize that Dean had even heard you say it before. But now he spoke it softly. You squeezed your eyes shut holding back the tears that you knew would otherwise overflow at the sound and hugged him even tighter. Your name rolled off his tongue and to hear him say it was like a new level of freedom. You didn’t just own a change of clothes anymore. You had a name too. There was some kind of protectiveness in his voice when he said it. You knew that your name would always be safe in his mouth.

Minutes ago you had thought that Dean was gone forever. Now he was alive and awake and holding you in his arms. And you felt like your heart might burst.

For this moment you were both alive and in each other's arms.

And nothing else mattered.

 

After you and Dean got your bearings together, and Sam and Castiel had made sure Alastair was really dead this time, the four of you climbed the ladder and left the ship. It was nice to be out of there and in the fresh air again. The night air was a bit nippy and stars glittered against the deep blue sky. You hugged Dean around the waist and he, in turn, put his arm on your shoulder as you walked up the long docks toward the impala.

“Well it looks like you guys can handle yourselves now,” Sam said, “You might wanna get changed out of those clothes though. Walking around covered in blood isn’t exactly the best way to be seen by strangers. There’s a motel about ten miles up the road.”

Sam hesitated and looked at Dean like there was something he wanted to comment on. Something he wanted to say, but wasn’t sure if he should. Dean nodded at him like he knew exactly what he was talking about, but neither said a word.

“Why are you guys looking at eachother like that?” you asked.

“It’s nothing,” Dean said, trying not to smile, “I’ll tell you later.”

Dean let go of you and gave Sam a quick hug and a clap on the shoulder.

“Thanks for coming Sam,” he said, and then repeated the gesture to the angel beside him.

“I’d be a goner without you, Cas,” he added, stepping back.

You followed behind Dean and hugged Sam tight, his height making you feel very small next to him.

“I knew you’d come.”

“Always,” Sam said, and tightly hugged you back.

Castiel seemed a little awkward at the prospect of a hug from a stranger. You didn’t know if he was always like that or if he’d just need time to warm up to you. But you didn’t care and hugged him anyway. If it hadn’t been for him, you and Dean would both be dead. After a moment he did finally relax as your arms were wrapped around him. Then you pulled back and joined Dean once again.

“We’ll head out tomorrow morning and see you guys back at my place. Maybe now that all of this is over things can get back to normal,” Dean said.

Sam nodded and Castiel clapped him on the shoulder, the two of them disappearing before your eyes. It was just as Dean had described and was a little shocking. You sort of wished he could have taken you and Dean with him, but someone had to drive the impala back. And besides, you were glad you would have time alone with Dean right now. There was something you wanted to ask him.

You climbed in the passenger side of the impala, rubbing your arms a little at the night chill that has begun to seep in. As the two of you began the short drive to the motel, you got up the courage to ask.

“Dean, when you talked about things getting back to normal,” you asked slowly, “Well, what exactly does that mean?”

You were secretly afraid that he wouldn’t be happy unless he went back to his old life. And you just wanted to know what that meant for you. Dean seemed to know where you were going.

“Are you asking because you don’t know how you fit into all of this?”

You nodded.

“I know what you're thinking," Dean answered, "And I can assure you, you don't need to worry about it. You belong right here with me."

"No, that came out wrong," Dean hastily corrected “You don’t _belong_ to me. Not like that. What I mean is, I'd never send you away. It's completely up to you... but you _could_ you could stay. I mean, ...only if you wanted to..."

You hadn't seen Dean like this before. He seemed like he was trying to say a hundred things at once and all that came out were fragments of what he was actually trying to express.

"...What im trying to say is, ...I would like it if you stayed."

You gave an indiscernible sigh of relief and leaned across the seat.

“I’d like that very much," you said as you planted a kiss on his cheek.

"How did I get so lucky?” you asked when you pulled back, “Of all the hunters who could have come after Alastair, it happened to be you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean said in a completely serious tone, “I am definitely the lucky one.”

  
The drive only took a few minutes and you were soon at the motel. Before getting out, Dean took off his jacket and tossed it in the back seat, hoping that the little bit of blood that was on his sleeves would go unnoticed. He popped the trunk and went to get a room while you got some things out of the trunk. Dean returned shortly to help you carry his duffel and the weapons that needed cleaning and lead the way down the sidewalk to the room, key in hand.

He unlocked the door and entered, tossing his things on the bed. As you came in the room behind him you noticed he was trying to hide his smile again and before you could call him on it, he turned to you.

“You want to know what Sam and I were talking about earlier? I said I’d tell you later and, well, it’s later.”

“The suspense has been killing me,” you laughed, though in all honesty you had been so distracted that you had forgotten all about it.

Dean tugged your hand, pulling you toward the bathroom. You followed him, completely and utterly confused. When you were both in the bathroom he moved close to you until his face was just inches from yours. All you could do was stare up at him questioningly. He smiled and moved his hands up your arms, then lifted them and gently placed his palms on your cheeks. You still had no idea what he was doing, but when he slowly moved his thumb over your cheek you suddenly knew. You pulled his hands away and spun to stare in the mirror. The scar that had stretched from your brow to your jawbone was gone. Your skin was smooth and soft. You rubbed your hand over the spot where it should have been, expecting to feel it, but there was nothing. You glanced at Dean again and he was grinning widely. You turned back to the mirror. It seemed so unreal.

With another thought, you yanked at the bandage that covered your palm, pulling away the gauze to reveal perfect flesh. There was no evidence that your hand had ever been burned. You dropped the bandage and collapsed to the bathroom floor, tears welling up in your eyes.

“Is this real?” you asked as Dean sat on the floor next to you and leaned against the tub. You couldn’t seem to keep your hands from feeling your smooth skin. Dean moved his hand to your face again.

“Yeah,” he laughed and kissed your smooth cheek, “This is real. Cas can heal more than just open wounds.”

He placed his hand on your cheek again, cupping it in his palm. You leaned into his touch. The last of your shame was gone. And it felt wonderful.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, “You were always beautiful, but now I can see you without any evidence of Alastair. Now you’re just you. And hopefully not having the scars anymore will help you forget.”

Dean slid his hands up the back of your shirt. You breathed faster, excitement overwhelming you. You pulled it off over your head, Dean helping a little. You strained to see your own back, felt what little skin you could reach with your own hands, and then pulled Deans arms and guided his hands to smooth over your skin. Those scars were gone too. With your old skin you couldn’t feel much. It was thick and didn’t sense as much of the contact. But now you could feel everything. Every gentle caress of Dean’s fingertips. You never wanted him to stop touching you. He ran his hands slowly up and down on your bare back before resting them on your hips.

You leaned into Dean and firmly pressed your lips against his. He gently but passionately deepened the kiss, moving his fingers on your bare skin again. He pulled you onto his lap so that you were straddling his legs, being careful to go slow enough that you could stop him if you wanted to. But you didn’t. You just wrapped your hands around his neck and pulled him closer. Using one hand he grabbed the edge of the tub and pushed himself to his feet and his other hand he used to hold you to him. When you were both standing in the small bathroom Dean pulled you closer and lifted your thighs. You wrapped your legs around him and moved your lips against his once again. Dean carefully carried you out of the bathroom and set you down on the bed, kissing you passionately the whole way. He pulled away from you for a moment to pull off his shirt while you lay back on the mattress and looked at him. He tossed his shirt on the floor and kicked off his boots. After you kicked off your shoes as well, you looked back to Dean. His eyes never left yours as he moved forward to kiss you on the bed. You leaned back slowly, Dean following with kisses. Goosebumps rose on your sensitive flesh as he tenderly traced his fingers over your flawless skin. His movements quickened and you responded equally, as if you couldn’t get enough of each other. Your lips collided again and you closed your eyes, using your hands to trace the defined muscles of Dean’s back as he held himself over you with his strong arms. He moaned slightly into your mouth, his warm lips moving softly over yours, before moving affectionately down your body. His fingers slid down to rest on on your hips, then moved to the button on your jeans. Suddenly he pulled back, his face hovering above yours.

“Am I going too fast?” Dean asked, suddenly remembering the last time he tried this and not wanting to repeat it.

You gently tugged on the hair at the back of his neck and shook your head before you smiled and and gently pushed him onto his back, moving so that you were sitting on top of him. You bent your neck and kissed him deeply. And Dean let you take control.

You knew that you didn’t belong _to_ Dean, you belonged _with_ him.

 

 

*      *      *      *      *

 

 You lay next to Dean in the low-lit room, tangled in the clean white sheets. Your legs were intertwined as you lay there. You snuggled into Dean’s chest while he wrapped his arms around you, gently caressing your shoulder with his thumb. Both of you had your eyes closed. You could feel the tickle of his breath on your hair. His breathing was slow and steady and his body moved with it slightly. His embrace kept you warm as you lay there with nothing but the sheet to cover you.

“I love you Dean,” you whispered, not moving from your position.

He smiled in response and said it back to you softly. Then he tilted his head and pressed his lips to your forehead before drifting off to sleep.

Tomorrow you’d go home with Dean. Though you didn’t know exactly where to go from there, you just knew you wanted to be with him. You had no family and no friends. All you had was Dean Winchester. But he was more than enough.

You reached over and turned off the light, then curled up against Dean again. The only sound was his gentle breathing. You let the steady rhythm lull you, and slowly closed your eyes, completely unafraid of the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.   
> Be sure to check my page for the podfic.  
> Comments are welcome!  
> And don't forget to share! :)
> 
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